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THE 

PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 
MAZEPPA 

AND 

OTHER  SELECTIONS 

FROM 

LORD  BYRON 


EDITED,  WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES , 

BY 

CHARLES  MAURICE  STEBBINS,  A.M. 

BOYS’  HIGH  SCHOOL,  BROOKLYN,  N.Y. 


SIBLEY  & COMPANY 


BOSTON 


I9H 


CHICAGO 


Copyright,  1905 
By  Sibley  & Company 


I<^4 

co  ^,',5" 


REMO' 


c, 


PREFACE. 


The  commanding  position  that  Byron  made  for  him- 
self in  the  Romantic  renaissance  during  the  early  years 
of  the  nineteenth  century  makes  him  an  important  figure 
in  the  history  of  English  literature,  and  as  such  he  justly 
holds  a place  in  the  curricula  of  secondary  schools.  More- 
over, his  intense,  subjective,  dashing  style  renders  him 
particularly  interesting  to  younger  readers.  The  Pris- 
oner of  Chillon  and  Mazeppa  are  especially  valuable  for 
use  early  in  the  course  when  emphasis  is  being  laid  on 
narrative  literature.  The  two  poems,  while  possessed  of 
many  common  characteristics,  are  widely  different  in 
tone,  in  spirit;  and  will  thus  furnish  variety  in  material 
for  narrative  study. 

There  has  been  supplied  to  each  poem  a series  of  ques- 
tions, the  purpose  of  which  is  to  lead  the  pupil  to  think 
for  himself.  It  is  not  necessary  that  he  be  able  to  give 
satisfactory  answers  to  all  of  them.  If,  by  suggesting  a 
new  point  of  view  or  by  broadening  his  horizon,  they  stim- 
ulate his  imagination  ever  so  little  or  provoke  the  least 
independent  thinking,  they  accomplish  their  purpose. 
The  true  ends  of  education  are  not  realized  by  giving 

iii 


IV 


PREFACE . 


the  pupil  to  do  what  he  can  do  well,  but  by  leading  him 
to  strive  for  that  which  is  just  beyond  his  reach. 

The  shorter  pieces  in  this  volume  have  been  selected 
with  a view  to  showing  the  best  side  of  the  poet’s  roman- 
tic genius — his  appreciation  of  nature,  his  love  for  all 
that  is  deep  and  noble  in  human  life,  his  sympathy  for 
the  oppressed)  and  his  hatred  of  oppression. 

CHARLES  M.  STEBBINS. 

Boys’  High  School,  Brooklyn. 

June , 1905. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Preface iii 

Introduction  — 

Critical  Comments 1 

Biographical  Sketch 4 

Historical  Sketch  of  Chillon 14 

The  Prisoner  of  Chillon 23 

Spain 38 

Solitude 40 

Leucadia  41 

Greece 43 

Leaving  England  the  Last  Time 47 

Waterloo 48 

The  Drachenfels 51 

Lake  Leman 53 

Clarens  .....  59 

Venice 62 

The  Ocean  . 65 

A Grecian  Sunset 68 

Greece 71 

Ode  to  Napoleon  Buonaparte 76 

The  Isles  of  Greece 83 

Ave  Maria 87 

Mazeppa 90 

Notes 123 


v 


/ 


INTRODUCTION. 


CRITICAL  COMMENTS. 

The  Position  of  Byron  as  a Poet  is  a curious  one.  He 
is  partly  of  the  past  and  partly  of  the  present.  Something  of 
the  school  of  Pope  clings  to  him;  yet  no  one  so  completely 
broke  away  from  old  measures  and  old  manners  to  make  his 
poetry  individual,  not  imitative.  At  first  he  has  no  interest 
whatever  in  the  human  questions  which  were  so  strongly  felt 
by  Wordsworth  and  Shelley.  His  early  work  is  chiefly  narra- 
tive poetry,  written  that  he  might  talk  of  himself  and  not  of 
mankind.  Nor  has  he  any  philosophy  except  that  which  cen- 
tres round  the  problem  of  his  own  being.  ...  We  feel  nat- 
urally great  interest  in  this  strong  personality,  put  before  us 
with  such  obstinate  power,  but  it  wearies  us  at  last.  Finally 
it  wearied  himself.  As  he  grew  in  power,  he  escaped  from  his 
morbid  self,  and  ran  into  the  opposite  extreme  in  Don  Juan. 
It  is  chiefly  in  it  that  he  shows  the  influence  of  the  revolution- 
ary spirit.  It  is  written  in  bold  revolt  against  all  the  conven- 
tionality of  social  morality  and  religion  and  politics.  ...  As 
a poet  of  nature  he  belongs  also  to  the  old  and  the  new  school. 
Byron’s  sympathy  with  nature  is  a sympathy  with  himself  re- 
flected in  her  moods.  But  he  also  escapes  from  this  position 
of  the  later  eighteenth  century  poets,  and  looks  on  nature  as 

1 


2 


LORD  BYRON. 


she  is,  apart  from  himself ; and  this  escape  is  made,  as  in  the 
case  of  his  poetry  of  man,  in  his  later  poems.  Lastly,  it  is  his 
colossal  power,  and  the  ease  that  comes  from  it,  in  which  he 
resembles  Dryden,  as  well  as  his  amazing  productiveness,  which 
mark  him  specially.  But  it  is  always  more  power  of  the  intel- 
lect than  of  the  imagination. 

Stopford  A.  Brooke. 

* 

Never  had  any  writer  so  vast  a command  of  the  whole  elo- 
quence of  scorn,  misanthropy,  and  despair.  That  Mar  ah  was 
never  dry.  No  art  could  sweeten,  no  draughts  could  exhaust, 
its  perennial  waters  of  bitterness.  Never  was  there  such  va- 
riety in  monotony  as  that  of  Byron.  From  maniac  laughter 
to  piercing  lamentation,  there  was  not  a single  note  of  human 
anguish  of  which  he  was  not  master.  ...  To  us  he  is  still  a 
man,  young,  noble,  and  unhappy.  To  our  children  he  will  be 
merely  a writer;  and  their  impartial  judgment  will  appoint 
his  place  among  writers,  without  regard  to  his  rank  or  to  his 
private  history.  That  his  poetry  will  undergo  a severe  sifting, 
that  much  of  what  has  been  admired  by  his  contemporaries 
will  be  rejected  as  worthless,  we  have  little  doubt.  But  we  have 
as  little  doubt  that,  after  the  closest  scrutiny,  there  will  still 
remain  much  that  can  only  perish  with  the  English  language. 

Lord  Macaulay. 

As  a poet,  Byron  professed  himself  a partisan  of  Pope,  and 
his  first  successful  essay  is  after  the  manner  of  Pope ; but  no 
writer  belongs  more  thoroughly  to  the  early  nineteenth  century 
and  all  its  movements  than  he.  In  one  respect  it  might  have 
been  better  for  him  had  he  really  followed  his  professed  mas- 
ter ; viz.,  in  careful  workmanship.  His  productions  are  often 


CRITICAL  COMMENTS . 


3 


wanting  in  finish.  He  did  not  “ file  ” and  perfect  enough.  In 
this  regard  as  in  others  he  is  the  son  of  his  time.  He  is  of  the 
revolution.  His  age  is  fallen  and  base,  to  his  thinking.  This 
thought  filled  him  with  contempt  and  scorn  for  it.  . . . His 
spirit  found  its  most  congenial  expression  in  a kind  of  poetry 
that  allowed  it  the  utmost  freedom  of  style,  where  he  could 
praise  or  mock,  be  refined  or  coarse,  terrible  or  grotesque,  comic 
or  tragic  or  farcical,  as  his  mood  was. 

Hales. 

His  work  and  Shelley’s,  beyond  that  of  all  our  other  poets, 
recall  or  suggest  the  wide  and  high  things  of  nature,  the  large 
likeness  of  the  elements,  the  immeasurable  liberty  and  the 
stormy  strength  of  waters  and  winds.  They  are  strongest 
when  they  touch  upon  these  ; and  it  is  worth  remark  how  few 
are  the  poets  of  wdiom  this  can  be  said. 

Swinburne. 

Along  with  his  astounding  power  and  passion,  he  had  a 
strong  and  deep  sense  for  what  is  beautiful  in  nature,  and  for 
what  is  beautiful  in  human  action  and  suffering.  When  he 
warms  to  his  work,  when  he  is  inspired,  Nature  herself  seems 
to  take  the  pen  from  him  as  she  took  it  from  Wordsworth, 
and  to  write  for  him  as  she  wrote  for  Wordsworth,  though  in 
a different  fashion,  with  her  own  penetrating  simplicity.  . . . 
But  these  two,  Wordsworth  and  Byron,  stand,  it  seems  to  me, 
first  and  foremost  in  actual  performance,  a glorious  pair  among 
the  English  poets  of  this  century. 


Matthew  Arnold. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  OF  LORD  BYRON. 


George  Gordon  Byron  was  born  in  London,  Jan.  22, 
1788. 

He  was  of  noble  descent  on  both  sides  of  the  family,  his 
mother  being  a descendant  of  James  I.  through  his  daughter 
Annabella. 

His  descent  on  his  father’s  side  is  traceable  as  far  back  as 
the  time  of  the  Conquest.  Two  members  of  the  family  of 
Buruns,  as  the  name  was  spelled,  crossed  over  with  William, 
and  Ralph,  the  poet’s  ancestor,  settled  in  Nottinghamshire. 
His  son  Hugh  was  lord  of  Horestan  Castle  in  the  County  of 
Derby.  The  son  of  this  Hugh  became  a monk  of  Lenton  ; but 
the  line  was  continued  by  his  son  Sir  Roger,  who  endowed 
with  lands  the  monastery  of  Swin stead. 

The  spelling  of  the  name  had  now  become  Buron ; and  the 
next  in  line,  Robert,  who  lived  in  the  time  of  Henry  II., 
adopted  the  present  spelling.  By  his  marriage  with  Cecilia, 
daughter  and  heir  of  Sir  Richard  Clayton,  this  Sir  Robert  de 
Byron  added  to  the  family  possessions  a large  estate  in  Lan- 
cashire, which  became  the  family  residence  of  the  Byrons  till 
the  time  of  Henry  VIII. 

Members  of  the  family  fought  and  died  at  the  siege  of 
Calais,  at  Cressy,  and  at  Bosworth ; and  several  of  them  were 
knighted  for  their  bravery. 


4 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


5 


“ Sir  John  the  Little  of  the  Great  Beard  ” seems  to  have 
won  the  favor  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  was  granted  the  Priory  of 
Newstead  upon  the  dissolution  of  monasteries  by  this  monarch. 
Sir  John’s  descendants  were  all  Royalists,  and  seven  of  them 
were  in  the  field  at  Edgehill. 

One  of  these  Byrons,  also  named  John,  for  his  services  at 
Newbury  was  created  Baron  of  Rochdale  by  Charles  1.  This 
was  in  1643. 

The  second  Lord  Byron  was  Richard,  John’s  brother,  who 
was  noted  in  war,  especially  for  his  heroic  .defence  of  Newark. 
His  son  William  became  the  third  Lord  Byron,  and  is  memo- 
rable principally  because  of  his  marriage  with  the  daughter  of 
Viscount  Chaworth.  He  was  a patron  of  poets,  and  was  him- 
self capable  of  rhyming. 

The  fourth  lord  was  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber  to  Prince 
George  of  Denmark,  and  is  said  to  have  been  a man  of  some 
culture  and  taste.  His  children,  however,  were  a wild,  pas- 
sionate, and  adventurous  lot.  His  eldest  son,  who  became  the 
fifth  lord,  and  was  the  immediate  predecessor  of  the  poet,  be- 
came engaged  in  a dispute  with  his  cousin,  Mr.  Chaworth, 
which  ended  in  the  death  of  the  latter.  After  this  event  all 
sorts  of  crimes  were  attributed  to  him  — among  others  that 
he  killed  his  coachman,  and  threw  the  dead  body  into  the 
coach  beside  his  wife,  and  that  later  he  attempted  to  drown 
her.  He  is  said  to  have  had  devils  to  attend  him,  and  was 
called  the  “ wicked  lord.” 

In  order  to  spite  his  son,  who  had  married  against  his  will, 
this  lord  illegally  sold  the  Rochdale  property,  and  stripped 
Newstead  as  bare  as  possible.  He,  however,  outlived  his  son 
and  his  grandson,  and  it  was  thus  that  the  poet  became  the 
sixth  lord. 


6 


LORD  BYRON . 


The  brother  of  the  “ wicked  lord”  was  Admiral  Byron, 
known  as  “ Foul  Weather  Jack,”  who  married  his  cousin,  she 
being  of  the  “ mad,  impetuous  race  of  the  Berkeleys.” 

Unfortunate  in  such  an  ancestry,  the  poet  was  even  more  so 
in  his  parentage  and  training.  His  father,  the  admiral’s  eldest 
son,  was  known  as  “Mad  Jack,”  and,  if  history  speaks  truly, 
was  not  unworthy  of  his  name.  He  seduced  the  Marchioness 
of  Carmarthen,  whom  he  afterward  married  and  treated  bru- 
tally. She  died  in  1784,  leaving  a daughter,  Augusta,  the 
sister  who  was  the  one  faithful  friend  of  the  poet  throughout 
his  life.  In  1786  Mad  Jack  married  Catherine  Gordon,  whose 
father  had  committed  suicide.  She  is  described  as  “ a dumpy 
young  woman,  with  a large  waist,  florid  complexion,  and 
homely  features.”  She  was,  besides,  the  victim  of  “frequent 
fits  of  uncontrollable  fury.”  Add  to  this  that  she  was  coarse, 
and  without  the  beginnings  of  an  education,  and  the  picture  is 
complete. 

One  day  at  school  a companion  of  Byron  exclaimed  to 
him,  — 

“ Byron,  your  mother  is  a fool ! ” 

“ I know  it,”  was  the  reply. 

Byron’s  father  diminished  his  wife’s  fortune  to  almost  noth- 
ing, and  after  two  years  of  separation  came  one  day  and 
begged  of  her  a guinea.  With  this  he  went  to  France,  where 
he  died  in  August,  1791.  Some  doubts  are  to  be  entertained 
whether  he  did  not  die  by  his  own  hand.  Byron  was  now 
three  years  old. 

His  childhood  was  spent  at  Aberdeen  with  his  mother, 
whose  passionate  fondness  for  her  child  alternated  with  blows 
and  abuse.  One  day  in  a fit  of  passion  she  accosted  the  boy, 
who  was  lame  because  of  a malformation  of  the  heel  tendon. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


7 


as  a “ lame  brat.”  With  trembling  lips,  and  eyes  that  flashed 
with  the  intensity  of  the  wound,  he  replied,  “ I was  born  so, 
mother.” 

This  mother,  however,  as  contradictory  in  nature  as  the 
poet  ever  proved  to  be,  boasted  of  her  democratic  principles ; 
and  it  was  from  her  that  Byron  received  his  early  training  to 
hate  royalty,  and  to  sympathize  with  the  oppressed. 

What  religious  training  he  had  is  due  to  his  nurse,  who 
familiarized  him  with  the  Bible,  and  grounded  him  so  strongly 
in  Calvinism  that  its  influence  always  remained  with  him. 

Byron  entered  the  grammar  school  of  Aberdeen  in  1794,  and 
is  said  to  have  distinguished  himself  by  being  constantly  at 
the  foot  of  the  class.  Instead  of  studying  his  lessons,  he  read 
books  more  to  his  taste ; and  these  he  literally  devoured,  and 
seems  to  have  digested.  His  reading  of  this  period  consisted 
of  books  of  travel  and  descriptions  of  the  East,  and  mythology. 
The  effect  of  these  is  easily  traced  in  his  writings. 

Here  at  Aberdeen  the  boy  had  his  first  love  experience, 
which  was  with  his  cousin,  Mary  Huff,  who  is  described  as  a 
“ charming  hazel-eyed,  brown-haired  little  girl.”  Here,  too, 
he  gained  his  love  for  the  mountains,  which  he  afterward  said 
were  “ a feeling  ” to  him. 

The  title  of  lord,  together  with  the  estate  of  Newstead 
Abbey,  descended  to  Byron  in  1798.  After  going  to  the  estate 
in  the  following  year,  he  continued  his  studies  under  a tutor 
by  the  name  of  Rogers,  but  this  lasted  only  for  a short  time ; 
for  that  year  Mrs.  Byron  went  to  London,  and  Byron  was 
sent  to  school  at  Dulwich.  While  here  he  slept  in  the  library 
of  the  master,  Dr.  Glennie,  and  introduced  himself  to  English 
poetry,  which  had  a lasting  influence  on  his  impressionable 
nature. 


8 


LORD  BYRON . 


At  this  period  his  second  love  experience  came,  and  with 
another  cousin,  whom  he  described  as  “ one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  evanescent  beings.  She  looked  as  if  she  had  been 
made  out  of  a rainbow,  all  beauty  and  peace.”  When  this 
cousin  died,  shortly  afterward,  we  discover  the  boy’s  feelings 
finding  expression  in  verse. 

In  1801  he  entered  Harrow  Grammar  School,  where  he  re- 
mained till  the  autumn  of  1805.  In  1803  he  spent  his  summer 
vacation  at  Nottingham,  where  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
another  cousin,  Mary  Anne  Chaworth,  who  was  then  a beauti- 
ful girl  of  eighteen,  two  years  older  than  himself.  She  was 
already  betrothed,  but  this  did  not  prevent  Byron  from  falling 
in  love  with  her.  She  once  made  the  remark,  “ Do  you  think 
I could  care  anything  for  that  lame  boy  ? ” The  careless  words 
came  to  the  boy,  who  never  forgot  them.  This  passion  for 
Mary  was  doubtless  the  deepest  he  had  yet  experienced,  and 
has  overflowed  into  many  of  his  poems.  In  Childe  Harold  he 
says  that  he  — 

“ Had  sighed  to  many,  though  lie  loved  but  one.” 

In  1805  he  went  to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and  in  the 
following  year  published  his  juvenile  poems,  and  in  1807  the 
Hours  of  Idleness.  Shortly  afterward,  when  Byron  was  indul- 
ging himself  on  the  occasion  of  his  becoming  of  age,  a bitter 
criticism  of  this  book  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh - Review ; a 
criticism  which  the  poet  characterized  as  “ a masterpiece  of 
low  wit,  a tissue  of  scurrilous  abuse.”  This  article  was  the 
cause  of  the  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers , which  ap- 
peared a few  days  after  Byron  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of 
Lords.  In  this  old  scores  were  more  than  paid  off.  No  living 
writer  escaped  the  sting  of  his  satire. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


9 


At  this  time  his  financial  affairs,  which  had  never  been  in 
a strikingly  good  condition,  became  worse ; and  to  improve 
matters  he  borrowed  funds  of  money-lenders  at  an  exorbitant 
interest,  and,  with  his  friend  Hobhouse  and  three  servants, 
sailed  for  Spain,  July  2,  1809,  intending  to  visit  India  and 
Persia.  Arriving  at  Lisbon,  the  party  travelled  overland  on 
horseback  to  Cadiz.  From  Spain  they  sailed  East,  visiting 
Sardinia,  Sicily,  Malta,  Albania,  and  Turkey ; and  finally  re- 
turned home  after  two  years  of  pilgrimage. 

In  the  year  following  his  return  the  first  two  cantos  of 
Childe  Harold  appeared,  and  were  so  enthusiastically  received 
that  the  well-known  remark,  “ I woke  one  morning  and  found 
myself  famous,”  was  elicited  from  the  poet.  The  first  edition 
of  five  thousand  copies  was  exhausted  in  three  days,  and  two 
more  editions  followed. 

It  was  as  if  a whirlwind  had  broken  loose.  He  was  the  main 
subject  of  conversation  in  all  London.  He  was  desired  every- 
where, and  even  the  objects  of  his  stinging  satire  hastened  to 
make  his  acquaintance.  He  was  the  lion  of  the  clubs,  balls, 
of  London  society  in  general,  and  of  the  women  in  particular. 
They  f6ll  in  love  with  his  “ marble  brow,  his  brown  curly  hair, 
his  gray  eyes  shaded  by  long  black  lashes,  his  beautiful  mobile 
mouth,  with  small  white  teeth,  his  fascinating  chin,  small 
shapely  hands,  rich  musical  voice,  and  irreproachable  manners.” 

At  this  time  Byron’s  works  began  to  appear  in  profusion. 
In  May,  1813,  The  Giaour  was  published,  and  soon  ran  through 
five  editions ; and  it  was  while  correcting  the  proof  of  one  of 
these  editions  that  the  poet  produced  the  Bride  of  Ahydos , 
which  was  written  in  the  space  of  four  nights.  In  less  than 
a month  six  thousand  copies  were  sold ; and  then  came  The 
Corsair  in  the  following  February,  ten  thousand  copies  being 


10 


LORD  BYRON , 


sold  on  the  day  of  publication.  In  the  same  year  appeared 
the  Ode  to  Napoleon  Buonaparte , and  Lara. 

Byron’s  marriage  took  place  in  the  following  January,  and 
appears  to  have  been  a very  happy  one  for  a time.  He  wrote 
to  Moore,  “ My  spouse  and  I agree  to  admiration.”  Soon,  how- 
ever, the  condition  of  the  poet’s  finances  began  to  make  itself 
manifest  in  a very  material  way.  Nine  executions  were  made 
upon  them  for  debt  in  as  many  months.  Quarrels  and  com- 
promises entered  the  family.  Lady  Byron  went  to  her  father’s 
for  a visit ; and  one  day,  two  weeks  later,  Byron  received  the 
astonishing  news  that  she  had  decided  not  to  return.  Although 
a goodly  share  of  the  blame  is  to  be  laid  at  his  door,  his  wife 
was  far  from  irreproachable  in  the  matter.  While  Byron  was 
harsh  and  cruel,  she  was  unkind  and  irritating  to  an  extreme. 
One  day  she  sneeringly  asked  him  when  he  was  going  to  “ leave 
off  writing  verses.”  The  separation  took  place  in  February, 
1816. 

When  this  fact  became  public,  Lord  Byron’s  sentence  was 
passed.  He,  who  four  years  before  had  been  received  and 
idolized  in  all  London,  was  now  the  object  of  as  great  hatred 
as  he  then  had  been  of  esteem.  He  was  accused  of  'all  the 
faults  he  had  ever  committed,  and  of  all  that  could  be  im- 
agined. He  was  talked  about,  whispered  about,  and  lied  about 
maliciously.  “ 1 was  accused,”  he  said,  “ of  every  monstrous 
vice  by  public  rumor  and  private  rancor.  I felt  that,  if  what 
was  whispered  and  muttered  was  true,  I was  unfit  for  England ; 
if  false,  England  was  unfit  for  me.” 

He  left  England  in  April  never  to  return,  and  the  first  part 
of  his  wanderings  are  told  in  the  third  and  fourth  cantos  of 
Childe  Harold.  He  journeyed  along  the  Rhine  as  far  as  Swit- 
zerland, and  spent  a good  part  of  the  summer  about  Lake 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


11 


Geneva,  where  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Shelley,  and  they 
together  made  a tour  of  the  lake  in  a small  boat.  Here  Byron 
produced  the  third  canto  of  Child e Harold , The  Prisoner  oj 
Chill  on,  parts  of  Manfred,  and  Prometheus . 

While  in  Switzerland,  Byron  tried  to  arrange  a reconcilia- 
tion with  his  wife,  but  she  refused  to  listen,  and  the  feelings 
of  love  which  he  had  up  to  this  time  entertained  toward  her 
were  changed  to  bitterness ; although  once  afterward,  while  in 
Italy,  he  wrote  a letter  to  her,  asking  for  a reconciliation  for 
the  sake  of  their  child,  who  was  growing  up  in  ignorance  of 
her  father;  but  the  letter  was  never  sent. 

In  October  he  crossed  the  Alps  and  went  to  Venice.  In 
December  he  wrote  to  Moore,  44  Of  Venice  I shall  say  little ; 
it  is  a poetical  place,  and  classical,  to  us,  from  Shakespeare 
and  Otway.  I have  not  yet  sinned  against  it  in  verse,  nor  do 
I know  that  I shall  do  so ; have  been  tuneless  since  I crossed 
the  Alps,  and  feeling  as  yet  no  renewal  of  the  4 estro.’  ” It 
came,  nevertheless;  and  in  Venice  Byron  wrote  part  of  the 
fourth  canto  of  Childe  Harold,  the  Ode  on  Venice,  Beppo , 
Marino  Faliero , The  Two  Foscari , Mazeppa,  and  parts  of  Bon 
Juan. 

The  poet’s  life  in  Venice  was  far  from  admirable.  He  en- 
gaged in  all  sorts  of  debaucheries.  There  was  another  side, 
however.  At  this  time  his  income  from  his  writings  was  about 
$20,000  a year.  A fourth  of  it  was  given  away  in  charity. 
Many  persons  who  regularly  received  his  gifts  did  not  know 
whence  they  came.  In  spite  of  his  cynicism  he  was  of  a kind, 
sympathetic  nature. 

While  at  Pisa,  Byron  received  a letter  from  a clergyman, 
telling  him  that  the  latter’s  wife  had  prayed  before  her  death 
for  his  conversion.  The  poet  replied,  44 1 would  not  exchange 


12 


LORD  BYRON . 


the  prayer  of  this  pure  and  virtuous  being  in  my  behalf  for 
the  united  glory  of  Homer,  Caesar,  and  Napoleon.” 

Tiring  of  poetry,  Byron  now  turned  his  attention  to  poli- 
tics; and  he  found  here  the  opportunities  which  had  been 
denied  him  at  home.  He  entered  the  struggle  for  the  freedom 
and  the  unification  of  Italy.  Little,  however,  was  to  be  ac- 
complished here  ; and  as  the  sale  of  Newstead  and  the  pro- 
ceeds from  half  the  estate  of  his  mother-in-law,  which  fell 
to  him,  gave  him  the  necessary  money,  he  hired  the  brig  Her- 
cules, and  taking  with  him  fifty  thousand  dollars,  medicines, 
and  arms,  sailed  for  Greece,  which  was  now  in  the  midst  of 
her  struggle  for  freedom  from  Turkey. 

His  career  as  a soldier  was  short,  as  he  was  stricken  with  a 
fever,  and  died  the  19th  of  April,  1824,  at  Missolonghi ; but 
his  liberality  and  great  love  of  liberty  endeared  him  to  the 
hearts  of  the  Greek  people.  When  Byron  died  it  was  the 
midst  of  the  Greek  Eastertide.  The  Provisional  Government 
at  Missolonghi  decreed : “ Our  festive  day  is  turned  into  one 
of  lamentation  and  mourning.  Let  all  Easter  festivities  be 
suspended,  and  let  funeral  prayers  be  said  in  all  the  churches. 
Let  the  people  cease  to  peal  Paschal  carols,  and  let  them  toll 
the  dirge  of  the  dead.  Let  all  public  offices  be  closed.  The 
Greek  nation  goes  into  mourning  for  thirty-one  days.” 

The  Greeks  desired  that  he  be  buried  in  the  Parthenon,  or 
in  the  Temple  of  Theseus,  but  this  was  not  to  be ; and  the 
mournful  procession  passed  down  to  the  quay,  followed  by  the 
rugged  Suliots,  the  tears  streaming  down  their  sun-browned 
cheeks.  Not  only  did  they  follow,  but  the  hearts  of  the 
Greek  nation  followed,  the  man  who  had  come  to  them  in 
their  darkest  hour  and  inspired  them  with  hope. 

“One  consolation  remains  to  us,”  said  the  Hellenic  Tele - 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


13 


graph ; “ the  good  he  has  effected  will  not  be  lost ; the  seed 
he  has  sown  with  such  alacrity  and  industry  for  the  benefit  of 
Greece  will  yet  produce  a noble  harvest.  The  most  glorious 
monument  that  can  be  raised  to  him  will  be  the  feelings  of 
gratitude  and  love  which  remain  stamped  in  the  heart  of 
every  Greek  and  every  friend  of  humanity.” 


HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF  CHILLON. 


One  day  in  the  year  830,  in  the  reign  of  Louis  the  Debo- 
naire,  chroniclers  tell  us  a company  of  armed  men  was  slowly 
First  Mention  making  its  way  along  the  rough  and  narrow 
of  chiiion.  road  which  wound  along  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tains on  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Leman,  leading  from  Vevey 
to  Villeneuve.  A prisoner  of  state  was  being  conducted  to  a 
lonely  tower  which  arose  from  the  rock,  now  covered  by  the 
historic  Chateau  de  Chillon. 

From  the  walls  of  this  massive  tower,  all  sides  of  which 
were  washed  by  the  blue  waves  of  the  lake,  the  prisoner  could 
behold  only  “ the  sky,  the  Pennine  Alps,  and  Lake  Leman.” 
From  the  care  with  which  the  cavalcade  proceeded  it  was 
evident  that  the  present  prisoner  was  one  of  no  little  impor- 
tance. It  was  the  Count  of  Wala,  a nephew  of 
count  of  waia.  Quarks  ]VXartel  and  cousin  of  Charlemagne,  a 
man  who  had  governed  Saxony,  commanded  armies  of  the 
empire,  and,  in  the  latter  years  of  the  great  emperor,  had 
been  his  chief  counsellor.  After  Charlemagne’s  death  things 
changed ; and  such  a man,  of  sterling  integrity  and  devotion 
to  the  cause  of  liberty,  was  in  the  way  of  the  intriguers  of  the 
Court.  He  was  therefore  relegated  to  this  distant  tower.  The 
peace  and  beauty  of  the  surroundings  were  of  such  a nature 
that  the  old  man,  far  from  bemoaning  his  fate,  refused  even 
to  apply  for  a release,  at  the  solicitation  of  his  friends,  at  a 

14 


HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF  CHILL  ON. 


15 


time  when  there  was  little  doubt  of  its  being  granted.  He 
preferred  to  remain  here,  surrounded  by  the  beauties  of  nature, 
and  in  freedom  of  his  mind,  rather  than  to  accept  any  clem- 
ency at  the  hands  of  his  oppressors,  or  to  re-enter  a world  out 
of  which  freedom  had  gone. 

This  “ old  massive  tower  ” continued  to  be  a sort  of  prison 
of  state  till  the  time  of  Peter  of  Savoy,  toward  the  middle  of 
the  thirteenth  century. 

Thomas  I.  of  Savoy  had  eight  sons,  who  were  all  intended 
for  the  church,  with  the  exception  of  Amedee,  the  eldest,  who 
was  to  succeed  his  father  as  Duke  of  Savoy. 

Peter  of  Savoy. 

Among  the  rest  Peter  took  orders,  but  did  so 
only  for  the  political  influence  it  would  give  him.  Upon  the 
death  of  his  father  he  exchanged  his  clerical  garments  for 
those  more  suited  to  his  tastes  and  character.  Shortly  after- 
ward he  married  into  the  family  of  the  powerful  baron  Aymon, 
who  soon  recognized  the  ability  of  his  son-in-law,  and  declared 
him  to  be  his  successor. 

Once  assured  of  this  heritage,  Peter  demanded  of  his  brother 
his  share  of  the  paternal  estate,  which  he  obtained  after  a trial 
of  arms.  He  received  Chablais  and  the  Val  d’Aost,  which  in- 
cluded the  fertile  valley  of  the  Rhone,  and  a large  tract  along 
the  shores  of  Leman.  Thus  it  was  that  Peter  came  into  pos- 
session of  Chillon. 

The  dukes  of  Savoy  had  already  added  extensively  to  the 
fortifications ; but  it  was  left  for  Peter  to  see  the  natural  ad- 
second  build-  vantages  of  the  situation,  and  to  transform  the 
ins  of  chiiion.  priSOn  into  the  chateau  of  future  importance. 
The  foundations  were  begun  June  25,  1236,  but  we  may  be- 
lieve it  was  some  time  before  the  structure  was  completed, 
possibly  two  years. 


16 


LORD  BYRON. 


The  castle  was  then  first  used  as  a retreat  for  Peter's  brother 
Aymon,  whose  health  was  rapidly  failing.  Says  the  Chronique 
de  Savoie : “ Peter  found  his  brother  in  very  great  extremity 
from  disease,  and  then  summoned  physicians  from  all  parts 
of  the  country,  but  all  was  of  no  avail.  And  when  he  saw 
himself  reduced  so  low,  Aymon  said  to  his  brothers,  Peter 
and  Aime,  ‘ My  lords  and  brothers,  I hope  it  may  please  you 
to  give  me  some  solitary  place  where  I may  spend  the  re- 
mainder of  my  days,  for  the  disturbances  of  the  people  annoy 
me  grievously,  and  I desire  to  change  air ; 9 and  then  Mon- 
sieur Peter  de  Savoye  responded  to  him  and  said,  ‘ I have 
built  a very  fine  castle  at  Chillon,  and  thither  you  shall  re- 
treat.' " 

Peter  also  built  other  castles;  but  Chillon  rapidly  grew  in 
importance,  and  not  long  after  the  death  of  his  brother  he 
made  it  the  seat  of  his  government,  and  it  remained  one  of 
the  important,  perhaps  the  most  important,  with  the  exception 
of  that  of  the  Habsburgs,  in  Switzerland,  until  the  time  of 
Bonnivard ; and  here  the  dukes  of  Savoy  lived  and  ruled  till 
the  ungraceful  exit  of  the  tyrannous  Charles  III. 

Once  when  Peter  had  been  away  on  a subjugating  expedition 
he  returned  home  by  night,  and  found  the  enemy  encamped 
Battle  of  by  his  very  door.  It  was  a company  of  the  troops 
chillon.  0f  Rudolph  of  Habsburg,  and  it  is  possible  that 
Rudolph  himself  was  among  them.  Peter  left  his  troops,  and 
by  stealth  gained  admission  to  the  castle,  from  which  he 
managed  to  get  an  idea  of  the  condition  of  his  enemies,  who 
were  scattered  about  in  groups  from  Villeneuve  to  Vevey. 
He  returned  to  his  friends  by  boat,  and  said  to  them,  “ Let 
us  be  brave  men,  and  the  enemy  are  ours."  The  response 
was,  “ You  have  only  to  command." 


HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF  CHILLON. 


17 


Battle  was  given,  and  so  successfully  that  nearly  all  jof 
the  Habsburgians  were  taken  prisoners ; but  instead  of  being 
treated  as  such  they  were  taken  to  the  chateau  and  feasted. 
They  were  dismissed  on  the  condition  that  they  return  home 
and  cease  henceforth  to  give  trouble. 

Nothing  of  great  importance  in  the  history  of  Chillon  oc- 
curred after  the  death  of  Peter  till  we  come  to  the  year 
1504,  when  Charles  III.  came  to  the  ducal  throne.  By  some 
irony  of  fate  this  tyrannous  duke  was  called  The 
Good  — probably  because  he  made  a grant  of 
land  to  the  church.  If  history  records  truly,  he  was  a second 
Nero,  as  Peter  was  the  “ Little  Charlemagne.”  He  was  of 
a land-grabbing  disposition,  and  did  not  scruple  to  remove 
whomsoever  he  found  in  his  way.  Thus  it  was  that  when 
he  found  the  strongest  opposition  to  his  scheme  of  bringing 
Geneva  under  his  sway  in  Bonnivard,  the  latter  was  con- 
signed to  the  dungeon. 

The  hero  of  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon  was  a Savoyard  by 
birth,  but  he  had  given  himself  unreservedly  to  the  cause  of 
Geneva  in  the  struggle  for  her  independence.  He 
had  studied  philosophy  and  law  at  Turin,  and  had 
returned  from  that  city  a champion  of  democratic  principles. 
He  gave  himself  to  reforms  both  in  religion  and  politics,  and 
continued  to  strive  unceasingly  for  the  freedom  of  his  adopted 
country. 

His  imprison-  Charles  profited  by  his  first  opportunity,  and 
ment.  arrested  the  reformer  at  Montheron,  canton  of 

Vaud,  and  conducted  him  to  the  chateau  of  Grolee,  where  he 
remained  prisoner  for  two  years,  when  he  was  set  at  liberty 
by  the  intervention  of  his  friends. 

This  liberty,  however,  did  not  last  long ; for  he  was  soon 


18 


LORD  BYRON. 


arrested  again  (in  1530),  and  conducted  to  Chillon,  where  he 
was  held  as  a prisoner  of  state  for  six  years. 

During  these  six  years  matters  were  gradually  working  to 
a crisis ; and  when  the  crisis  came,  Bonnivard  was  freed. 

The  Genevese  never  forgot  Bonnivard,  as  Bonnivard  never 
forgot  Geneva;  and  at  the  earliest  possible  moment  their  at- 
tention was  turned  to  his  rescue.  The  Bernese,  always  stanch 
supporters  of  the  oppressed,  were  invited  to  assist.  They  came 
down  singing  their  ancient  war-song,  The  Bear  of  Bern  Has 
Left  His  Lair , while  the  Genevese  attacked  from  the  lake.  The 
onset  was  made  in  the  early  morning.  The  previous  evening 
Charles  had  escaped,  giving  orders,  it  is  claimed  by  some,  that 
the  prisoner  be  put  to  death.  The  lieutenant,  however,  feared 
for  his  own  safety  should  the  castle  be  taken,  and  awaited  the 
outcome  before  obeying  the  command. 

Toward  noon  the  chateau  was  surrendered  ; and  the  patriots 
rushed  to  the  dungeon,  exclaiming,  “ Bonnivard,  thou  art 
free  ! ” — “ And  Geneva  ? ” was  the  response.  “ Free  also.” 

Bonnivard  had  no  brothers  who  shared  his  captivity ; and, 
indeed,  it  is  not  known  that  he  had  any  at  all.  There  were, 
however,  several  prisoners  in  the  dungeon  with  him  at  the 
time  of  his  liberation. 

Upon  his  return  to  public  life  Bonnivard  was  made  one  of 
the  Two  Hundred  of  Geneva,  and  published  a history  of  the 
city  under  the  name  of  Chronicles  of  the  City  of 
Later  ife.  Qeneva^  besides  several  other  works  of  minor  im- 
portance. He  lived  to  a ripe  old  age,  enjoying  the  fruits 
of  his  liberty,  for  which  he  had  paid  so  dearly.  He  died  in 
1570. 


HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF  CHILLON. 


19 


THE  POEM. 

Nearly  three  centuries  after  the  imprisonment  of  Bonmvard, 
Byron,  with  his  friend  Hobhouse,  was  living  at  Clarens.  One 
Byron’s  visit  bright  morning  they  directed  their  sail  toward 
to  chiiion.  Chillon.  It  was  the  same  journey  that  the  family 
of  Julie  made  on  the  day  of  the  catastrophe,  in  Rousseau’s 
Nouvelle  Heloise.  This  Byron  had  read,  or  was  at  this  time 
reading ; and  his  mind  was  full  of  sad  recollections,  yet  light- 
ened by  the  beauty  of  nature,  which,  he  wrote  to  Murray,  he 
never  attempted  to  describe,  because  anything  he  could  say 
appeared  to  him  so  below  the  impressions  which  he  received. 

They  landed  at  Chillon,  and  were  conducted  to  the  dun- 
geon, which  was  far  from  being  the  place  Byron  described  it 
to  be.  It  is  architecturally  the  finest  portion 
of  the  castle,  and  is  certainly  the  most  inter- 
esting from  its  associations.  The  series  of  chambers  called 
the  dungeons  is  cut  partially  out  of  the  solid  rock  upon  which 
the  castle  is  built.  It  is  of  Gothic  design,  and,  were  it  larger, 
would  not  be  unlike  the  aisles  of  a cathedral  of  the  period. 
In  the  next  largest  chamber  there  are  four  or  five  pillars  of 
“ Gothic  mould ; ” and  in  the  largest  there  are  eight,  “ one  being 
half  merged  in  the  wall.”  In  several  of  these  pillars  there 
are  rings  to  which  the  prisoners  were  fettered.  The  tourist 
of  to-day  is  shown  the  one  to  which  Bonnivard  was  fastened, 
also  the  traces  1 which  the  feet  of  the  prisoner  made  in  the 
pavement  diiring  the  six  years  of  his  confinement.  In  one 
of  these  vaults  is  a beam  “ black  with  age,”  on  which  the 

1 These  imprints  are  now  supposed  to  have  been  made  by  monks, 
and  this  part  of  the  story  to  have  been  invented  by  them  to  attract 
attention  to  the  place. 


20 


LOBD  BYBON. 


execution  of  the  condemned  took  place.  The  vaults  are  lofty, 
and  receive  air  and  light  through  numerous  narrow  apertures 
several  feet  above  the  pavement. 

When  Byron  entered  here  he  was  ignorant  of  the  story  of 
Bonnivard,  and  says  Vulliemin,  “ He  at  first  saw  only  the 
vaults  which  enclosed  him,  the  shadows  which  spread  about 
him,  and  death  which  seemed  to  inhabit  the  place.  . . . He 
saw  Ugolino, 1 his  sons,  and  their  fearful  death.  He  was  en- 

1 The  story  of  Ugolino  Gherardesca  was  made  famous  by  Dante  in 
the  Inferno.  Ugolino  for  some  treachery,  supposed  or  real,  was  taken, 
with  his  two  sons  and  two  grandsons,  and  confined  in  the  Palazzo 
del  Comune,  by  leaders  of  the  Ghibellines.  After  twenty  days  of  con- 
finement they  were  removed  to  the  Torre  della  Fame.  By  the  order 
of  the  archbishop  the  door  was  locked  and  the  key  thrown  into  the 
Arno.  Dante,  in  the  Inferno , makes  Ugolino  recount  his  story  as 
below.  Resemblances  may  be  found  between  it  and  passages  of  The 
Prisoner  of  Chillon : — 

“ ‘ And  I heard  locked  the  exit  underneath 
The  horrible  turret ; whereupon  I looked 
In  my  sons’  faces,  saying  not  a word. 

I wept  not,  I so  petrified  within : 

They  wept  ; and  said  my  Anselmuccio,  ‘ Thou, 

Father,  art  looking  so?  How  is  ’t  with  thee?* 

I shed  no  tear,  however,  nor  replied 
The  whole  of  that  day,  nor  the  after  night, 

Till  issued  in  the  world  the  other  sun. 

When,  as  some  little  ray  had  got  itself 
Into  the  painful  dungeon,  and  I marked 
My  selfsame  aspect  upon  faces  four, 

I bit  for  anguish  into  both  my  hands  : 

And  they,  supposing  I did  that  for  need 
Of  eating,  of  a sudden  raised  themselves, 

And  said  : “ ’T  will  give  us,  father,  much  less  pain 
If  us  thou  eat’st  of  : thou  induedst  us 
This  miserable  flesh,  and  doff  it  thou.” 

I,  not  to  make  them  sadder,  stilled  me  then  : 

That  and  the  next  day  we  remained  all  dumb; 


HISTOBICAL  SKETCH  OF  CHILLON. 


21 


gaged  in  these  thoughts  while  a drunken  corporal,  deaf,  and 
thinking  that  all  who  listened  were  like  himself,  bellowed  out 
the  legend  of  the  place.  They  mingled  in  the  soul  of  the  poet. 
To  those  of  Bonnivard  he  added  his  own  remembrances,  his 
sorrows,  his  aspirations  toward  liberty,  and  under  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  moment,  he  formed  the  plan  and  composed  a great 
part  of  the  poem.’’ 

Finally  they  returned  to  the  open  air.  As  he  was  leaving 
the  castle,  Byron  met  some  children  playing 'by  the  roadside; 
he  took  from  his  pocket  several  half  guineas  and  distributed  to 
them.  The  two  friends  returned  to  Clarens  on  foot. 

Byron  visited  Chillon  again  before  he  left  Switzerland,  but 
it  was  on  a rainy  day  shortly  after  his  first  visit  that  he  fin- 
Compietion  ished  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon.  He  had  taken 
of  boat  for  Lausanne,  but  on  his  arrival  at  Ouchy 

the  Poem.  ^ rain?  and  he  stopped  at  the  Hotel  de 

VAncrej  it  was  while  detained  there  by  the  inclement  weather 
that  he  completed  the  poem. 


Ah  ! hardened  earth,  why  openest  thou  not? 
When  to  the  fourth  day  we  were  come,  before 
My  feet,  distended,  Gaddo  threw  himself, 

Saying,  “My  father,  why  not  give  me  help?” 
Herewith  he  died  ; and,  as  thou  seest  me, 

I saw  the  three  fall  one  by  one,  between 
The  fifth  day  and  the  sixth  : whereat  I took. 
Already  blind,  to  groping  over  each, 

And  three  days  called  them  after  they  were  dead. 
Then  fasting  more  availed  than  sorrowing.’  ” 


- . . 


m IIBMW 
Of  1H6 

UHlVtHSiTV  Of  IIUIWS 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON. 


My  hair  is  gray,  but  not  with  years, 

Nor  grew  it  white 
In  a single  night, 

As  men’s  have  grown  from  sudden  fears  : 
My  limbs  are  bow’d,  though  not  with  toil, 
But  rusted  with  a vile  repose, 

For  they  have  been  a dungeon’s  spoil, 

And  mine  has  been  the  fate  of  those 
To  whom  the  goodly  earth  and  air 
Are  bann’d,  and  barr’d  — forbidden  fare  ; 
But  this  was  for  my  father’s  faith 
I suffer’d  chains  and  courted  death ; 

That  father  perish’d  at  the  stake 
For  tenets  he  would  not  forsake  ; 

And  for  the  same  his  lineal  race 
In  darkness  found  a dwelling-place-, 

We  were  seven  — who  now  are  one, 

Six  in  youth,  and  one  in  age, 

Finish’d  as  they  had  begun, 

Proud  of  Persecution’s  rage  ; 

One  in  fire,  and  two  in  field, 

23 


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LORD  BYRON . 


Their  belief  with  blood  have  seal’d ; 

Dying  as  their  father  died, 

For  the  God  their  foes  denied ; 

Three  were  in  a dungeon  cast, 

Of  whom  this  wreck  is  left  the  last. 

There  are  seven  pillars  of  Gothic  mould, 
In  Chillon’s  dungeons  deep  and  old, 

There  are  seven  columns,  massy  and  gray, 
Dim  with  a dull  imprison’d  ray, 

A sunbeam  which  hath  lost  its  way, 

And  through  the  crevice  and  the  cleft 
Of  the  thick  wall  is  fallen  and  left ; 
Creeping  o’er  the  floor  so  damp, 

Like  a marsh’s  meteor  lamp  : 

And  in  each  pillar  there  is  a ring, 

And  in  each  ring  there  is  a chain ; 

That  iron  is  a cankering  thing, 

For  in  these  limbs  its  teeth  remain, 
With  marks  that  will  not  wear  away, 

Till  I have  done  with  this  new  day, 
Which  now  is  painful  to  these  eyes, 
Which  have  not  seen  the  sun  to  rise 
For  years  — I cannot  count  them  o’er, 

I lost  their  long  and  heavy  score 
When  my  last  brother  droop’d  and  died, 
And  I lay  living  by  his  side. 

They  chain’d  us  each  to  a column  stone, 


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THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILL  ON. 


25 


And  we  were  three  — yet,  each  alone  : 

We  could  not  move  a single  pace, 

We  could  not  see  each  other’s  face, 

But  with  that  pale  and  livid  light 
That  made  us  strangers  in  our  sight : 

And  thus  together  — yet  apart, 

Fetter’d  in  hand,  but  joined  in  heart, 
’Twas  still  some  solace,  in  thefclearth  dUi, 
Of  the  pure  elements  of  earth, 

To  hearken  to  each  other’s  speech, 

And  each  turn  comforter  to  each 
With  some  new  hope,  or  legend  old, 

Or  song  heroically  bold  ; 

But  even  these  at  length  grew  cold. 

Our  voices  took  a dreary  tone, 

An  echo  of  the  dungeon-stone, 

A grating  sound  — not  full  and  free 
As  they  of  yore  were  wont  to  be  : 

It  might  be  fancy  — but  to  me 
They  never  sounded  like  our  own. 

I was  the  eldest  of  the  three, 

And  to  uphold  and  cheer  the  rest 
I ought  to  do  — and  did  — my  best, 

And  each  did  well  in  his  degree. 

The  youngest,  whom  my  father  loved, 
Because  our  mother’s  brow  was  given 
To  him  — with  eyes  as  blue  as  heaven, 

For  him  my  soul  was  sorely  moved : 


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60 

65 

70 


75 


26 


LORD  BYRON. 


And  truly  might  it  be  distress’d 
To  see  such  bird  in  such  a nest ; 

For  he  was  beautiful  as  day  — 

(When  day  was  beautiful  to  me 
As  to  young  eagles,  being  free)  — 

A polar  day,  which  will  not  see 
A sunset  till  its  summer’s  gone, 

Its  sleepless  summer  of  long  light, 

The  snow-clad  offspring  of  the  sun ! 

And  thus  he  was  as  pure  and  bright, 
And  in  his  natural  spirit  gay, 

With  tears  for  nought  but  others’  ills, 

And  then  they  flow’d  like  mountain  rills, 
Unless  he  could  assuage  the  woe 
Which  he  abhorr’d  to  view  below. 

The  other  was  as  pure  of  mind, 

But  form’d  to  combat  with  his  kind 
Strong  in  his  frame,  and  of  a mood 
Which  ’gainst  the  world  in  war  had  stood, 
And  perish’d  in  the  foremost  rank 

With  joy  : — but  not  in  chains  to  pine  : 
His  spirit  wither’d  with  their  clank, 

I saw  it  silently  decline  — 

And  so  perchance  in  sooth  did  mine  : 
But  yet  I forced  it  on  to  cheer 
Those  relics  of  a home  so  dear. 

He  was  a hunter  of  the  hills, 

Had  follow’d  there  the  deer  and  wolf ; 


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THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILL  OH. 


27 


To  him  this  dungeon  was  a gulf, 

And  fetter’d  feet  the  worst  of  ills. 

Lake  Leman  lies  by  Chillon’s  walls : 

A thousand  feet  in  depth  below 
Its  massy  waters  meet  and  flow ; 

Thus  much  the  fathom -line  was  sent 
From  Chillon’s  snow-white  battlement, 

Which  round  about  the  wave  enthralls : 

A double  dungeon  wall  and  wave 
Have  made  — and  like  a living  grave 
Below  the  surface  of  the  lake 
The  dark  vault  lies  wherein  we  lay, 

We  heard  it  ripple  night  and  day ; 

Sounding  o’er  our  heads  it  knock’d  ; 

And  I have  felt  the  winter’s  spray 

Wash  through  the  bars  when  winds  were  high 

And  wanton  in  the  happy  sky ; 

And  then  the  very  rock  hath  rock’d, 

And  I have  felt  it  shake,  unshock’d, 

Because  I could  have  smiled  to  see 
The  death  that  would  have  set  me  free. 

I said  my  nearer  brother  pined, 

I said  his  mighty  heart  declined, 

He  loathed  and  put  away  his  food ; 

It  was  not  that  ’twas  coarse  and  rude, 

For  we  were  used  to  hunter’s  fare, 

And  for  the  like  had  little  care : 


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LORD  BYRON . 


The  milk  drawn  from  the  mountain  goat 
Was  changed  for  water  from  the  moat, 

Our  bread  was  such  as  captives’  tears 
Have  moisten’d  many  a thousand  years,  135 

Since  man  first  pent  his  fellow-men 
Like  brutes  within  an  iron  den ; 

But  what  were  these  to  us  or  him  ? 

These  wasted  not  his  heart  or  limb ; 

My  brother’s  soul  was  of  that  mould  140 

Which  in  a palace  had  grown  cold, 

Had  his  free  breathing  been  denied 
The  range  of  the  steep  mountain’s  side ; 

But  why  delay  the  truth  ? — he  died. 

I saw,  and  could  not  hold  his  head,  145 

Nor  reach  his  dying  hand  — nor  dead  — 

Though  hard  I strove,  but  strove  in  vain, 

To  rend  and  gnash  my  bonds  in  twain. 

He  died  — and  they  unlock’d  his  chain, 

And  scoop’d  for  him  a shallow  grave  150 

Even  from  the  cold  earth  of  our  cave. 

I begg’d  them,  as  a boon,  to  lay 
His  corse  in  dust  whereon  the  day 
Might  shine  — it  was  a foolish  thought, 

But  then  within  my  brain  it  wrought,  155 

That  even  in  death  his  freeborn  breast 
In  such  a dungeon  could  not  rest. 

I might  have  spared  my  idle  prayer  — 

They  coldly  laugh’d  — and  laid  him  there  : 

The  flat  and  turfless  earth  above 


16f 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILL  ON. 


29 


The  being  we  so  much  did  love ; 

His  empty  chain  above  it  leant, 

Such  murder’s  fitting  monument ! 

But  he,  the  favorite  and  the  flower, 

Most  cherish’d  since  his  natal  hour, 

His  mother’s  image  in  fair  face, 

The  infant  love  of  all  his  race, 

His  martyr’d  father’s  dearest  thought, 

My  latest  care,  for  whom  I sought 
To  hoard  my  life,  that  his  might  be 
Less  wretched  now,  and  one  day  free  $ 

He,  too,  who  yet  had  held  untired 
A spirit  natural  or  inspired  — 

He,  too,  was  struck,  and  day  by  day 
Was  wither’d  on  the  stalk  away. 

Oh  God  ! it  is  a fearful  thing 
To  see  the  human  soul  take  wing 
In  any  shape,  in  any  mood : 

I’ve  seen  it  rushing  forth  in  blood, 

I’ve  seen  it  on  the  breaking  ocean 
Strive  with  a swoln  convulsive  motion, 
I’ve  seen  the  sick  and  ghastly  bed 
Of  sin  delirious  with  its  dread  : 

But  these  were  horrors  — this  was  woe 
Unmix’d  with  such  — but  sure  and  slow  : 
He  faded,  and ‘so  calm  and  meek, 

So  softly  worn,  so  sweetly  weak, 

So  tearless,  yet  so  tender  — kind, 


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LORD  BYRON. 


9 

30 

And  grieved  for  those  he  left  behind  ; 
With  all  the  while  a cheek  whose  bloom 
Was  as  a mockery  of  the  tomb, 

Whose  tints  as  gently  sunk  away 
As  a departing  rainbow’s  ray, 

An  eye  of  most  transparent  light, 

That  almost  made  the  dungeon  bright, 
And  not  a word  of  murmur  — not 
A groan  o’er  his  untimely  lot,  — 

A little  talk  of  better  days, 

A little  hope  my  own  to  raise, 

For  I was  sunk  in  silence  — lost 
In  this  last  loss,  of  all  the  most ; 

And  then  the  sighs  he  w^ould  suppress 
Of  fainting  nature’s  feebleness, 

More  slowly  drawn,  grew  less  and  less, 

I listen’d,  but  I could  not  hear  — 

I call’d,  for  I was  wild  with  fear ; 

I knew  ’twas  hopeless,  but  my  dread 
Would  not  be  thus  admonished ; 

I call’d  and  thought  I heard  a sound  — 

I burst  my  chain  with  one  strong  bound, 
And  rush’d  to  him  : — I found  him  not, 
I only  stirred  in  this  black  spot, 

I only  lived  — I only  drew 
The  accursed  breath  of  dungeon-dew  ; 
The  last  — the  sole  — the  dearest  link 
Between  me  and  the  eternal  brink, 
Which  bound  nae  to  my  failing  race, 


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31 


Was  broken  in  this  fatal  place. 

One  on  the  earth,  and  one  beneath  — 

My  brothers  — both  hath  ceased  to  breathe  : 220 

I took  that  hand  which  lay  so  still, 

Alas  ! my  own  was  full  as  chill ; 

I had  not  strength  to  stir,  or  strive, 

But  felt  that  I was  still  alive  — 

A frantic  feeling,  when  we  know  225 

That  what  we  love  shall  ne’er  be  so. 

I know  not  why 
I could  not  die, 

I had  no  earthly  hope  but  faith, 

And  that  forbade  a selfish  death.  23c 

What  next  befell  me  then  and  there 
I know  not  well  — I never  knew  — 

First  came  the  loss  of  light,  and  air, 

And  then  of  darkness  too : 

I had  no  thought,  no  feeling  — none  — 235 

Among  the  stones  I stood  a stone, 

And  was,  scarce  conscious  what  I wist, 

As  shrubless  crags  within  the  mist ; 

For  all  was  blank,  and  bleak,  and  gray  ; 

It  was  not  night  — it  was  not  day  ; 240 

It  was  not  even  the  dungeon-light, 

So  hateful  to  my  heavy  sight, 

But  vacancy  absorbing  space, 

And  fixedness  — without  a place  : 

There  were  no  stars  — no  earth  — no  time  — 245 


32 


LORD  BYRON. 


No  check  — no  change  — no  good  — no  crime 
But  silence,  and  a stirless  breath 
Which  neither  was  of  life  nor  death ; 

A sea  of  stagnant  idleness, 

Blind,  boundless,  mute,  and  motionless ! 

A light  broke  in  upon  my  brain,  — 

It  was  the  carol  of  a bird  ; 

It  ceased,  and  then  it  came  again, 

The  sweetest  song  ear  ever  heard, 

And  mine  was  thankful  till  my  eyes 
Ban  over  with  the  glad  surprise, 

And  they  that  moment  could  not  see 
I was  the  mate  of  misery  ; 

But  then  by  dull  degrees  came  back 
My  senses  to  their  wonted  track ; 

I saw  the  dungeon  walls  and  floor 
Close  slowly  round  me  as  before, 

I saw  the  glimmer  of  the  sun 
Creeping  as  it  before  had  done, 

But  through  the  crevice  where  it  came 
That  bird  was  perch’d,  as  fond  and  tame, 

And  tamer  than  upon  the  tree  ; 

A lovely  bird  with  azure  wings, 

And  song  that  said  a thousand  things, 

And  seem’d  to  say  them  all  for  me  ! 

I never  saw  its  like  before, 

I ne’er  shall  see  its  likeness  more : 

It  seem’d  like  me  to  want  a mate, 


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33 


But  was  not  half  so  desolate, 

And  it  was  come  to  love  me  when 
None  lived  to  love  me  so  again, 

And  cheering  from  my  dungeon’s  brink, 

Had  brought  me  back  to  feel  and  think. 

I know  not  if  it  late  were  free, 

Or  broke  its  cage  to  perch  on  mine, 

But  knowing  well  captivity, 

Sweet  bird  ! I could  not  wish  for  thine ! 

Or  if  it  were,  in  winged  guise, 

A visitant  from  Paradise  ; 

For  — Heaven  forgive  that  thought ! the  while 
Which  made  me  both  to  weep  and  smile  ; 

I sometimes  deem’d  that  it  might  be 
My  brother’s  soul  come  down  to  me  ; 

But  then  at  last  away  it  flew, 

And  then  ’twas  mortal  well  I knew, 

For  he  would  never  thus  have  flown, 

And  left  me  twice  so  doubly  lone,  — 

Lone  — as  the  corse  within  its  shroud, 

Lone  — as  a solitary  cloud, 

A single  cloud  on  a sunny  day, 

While  all  the  rest  of  heaven  is  clear, 

A frown  upon  the  atmosphere, 

That  hath  no  business  to  appear 

When  skies  are  blue,  and  earth  is  gay. 


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A kind  of  change  came  in  my  fate, 
My  keepers  grew  compassionate ; 


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LORD  BYRON . 


I know  not  what  had  made  them  so, 

They  were  inured  to  sights  of  woe, 

But  so  it  was  : — my  broken  chain 
With  links  unfasten’d  did  remain, 

And  it  was  liberty  to  stride 
Along  my  cell  from  side  to  side, 

And  up  and  down,  and  then  athwart, 

And  tread  it  over  every  part ; 

And  round  the  pillars  one  by  one, 
Keturning  where  my  walk  begun, 
Avoiding  only,  as  I trod, 

My  brothers’  graves  without  a sod ; 

For  if  I thought  with  heedless  tread, 

My  step  profaned  their  lowly  bed, 

My  breath  came  gaspingly  and  thick, 

And  my  crush’d  heart  felt  blind  and  sick. 

I made  a footing  in  the  wall, 

It  was  not  therefrom  to  escape, 

For  I had  buried  one  and  all 

Who  loved  me  in  a human  shape ; 

And  the  whole  earth  would  henceforth  be 
A wider  prison  unto  me  : 

No  child  — no  sire  — no  kin  had  I, 

No  partner  in  my  misery; 

I thought  of  this,  and  I was  glad, 

For  thought  of  them  had  made  me  mad ; 
But  I was  curious  to  ascend 
To  my  barr’d  windows,  and  to  bend 


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35 


Once  more,  upon  the  mountains  high, 

The  quiet  of  a loving  eye. 

I saw  them  — and  they  were  the  same, 

They  were  not  changed  like  me  in  frame ; 

I saw  their  thousand  years  of  snow 
On  high  — their  wide  long  lake  below, 

And  the  blue  Rhone  in  fullest  flow ; 

I heard  the  torrents  leap  and  gush 
O’er  channelled  rock  and  broken  bush ; 

I saw  the  white-wall’d  distant  town, 

And  whiter  sails  go  skimming  down ; 

And  then  there  was  a little  isle, 

Which  in  my  very  face  did  smile, 

The  only  one  in  view ; 

A small  green  isle,  it  seem’d  no  more, 

Scarce  broader  than  my  dungeon  floor, 

But  in  it  there  were  three  tall  trees, 

And  o’er  it  blew  the  mountain  breeze, 

And  by  it  there  were  waters  flowing, 

And  on  it  there  were  young  flowers  growing, 
Of  gentle  breath  and  hue. 

The  fish  swam  by  the  castle  wall, 

And  they  seem’d  joyous  each  and  all ; 

The  eagle  rode  the  rising  blast, 

Methought  he  never  flew  so  fast 
As  then  to  me  he  seem’d  to  fly, 

And  then  new  tears  came  in  my  eye, 

And  I felt  troubled  — and  would  fain 


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340 

345 

350 

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36 


LORD  BYRON . 


I had  not  left  my  recent  chain ; 

And  when  I did  descend  again, 

The  darkness  of  my  dim  abode 
Fell  on  me  as  a heavy  load ; 

It  was  as  is  a new-dug  grave, 

Closing  o’er  one  we  sought  to  save,  — 
And  yet  my  glance,  too  much  oppress’d, 
Had  almost  need  of  such  a rest. 

It  might  be  months,  or  years,  or  days, 

I kept  no  count  — I took  no  note, 

I had  no  hope  my  eyes  to  raise, 

And  clear  them  of  their  dreary  mote ; 
At  last  men  came  to  set  me  free, 

I ask’d  not  why,  and  reck’d  not  where, 
It  was  at  length  the  same  to  me, 

Fetter’d  or  fetterless  to  be, 

I learn’d  to  love  despair, 

And  thus  when  they  appear’d  at  last, 
And  all  my  bonds  aside  were  cast, 

These  heavy  walls  to  me  had  grown 
A hermitage  — and  all  my  own  ! 

And  half  I felt  as  they  were  come 
To  tear  me  from  a second  home : 

With  spiders  I had  friendship  made, 

And  watched  them  in  their  sullen  trade, 
Had  seen  the  mice  by  moonlight  play, 
And  why  should  I feel  less  than  they  ? 
We  were  all  inmates  of  one  place, 

And  I,  the  monarch  of  each  race, 


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THE  P BISON ER  OF  CHILL  OH. 


37 


Had  power  to  kill  — yet,  strange  to  tell ! 

In  quiet  we  had  learned  to  dwell  — 

My  very  chains  and  I grew  friends, 

So  much  a long  communion  tends  390 

To  make  us  what  we  are  : — even  I 
Begain’d  my  freedom  with  a sigh. 


38 


LORD  BYRON . 


SPAIN. 


Oh,  lovely  Spain  ! renowned,  romantic  land  ! 

Where  is  that  standard  which  Pelagio  bore, 

When  Cava’s  traitor-sire  first  called  the  band 
That  dyed  thy  mountain  streams  with  Gothic  gore  ? 
Where  are  those  bloody  banners  which  of  yore  5 
Waved  o’er  thy  sons,  victorious  to  the  gale, 

And  drove  at  last  the  spoilers  to  their  shore  ? 

Eed  gleamed  the  cross,  and  waned  the  crescent  pale, 
While  Afric’s  echoes  thrilled  with  Moorish  matrons’  wail. 


Teems  not  each  ditty  with  the  glorious  tale ! 10 

Ah ! such,  alas  ! the  hero’s  amplest  fate  ! 

When  granite  moulders  and  when  records  fail, 

A peasant’s  plaint  prolongs  his  dubious  date. 

Pride ! bend  thine  eye  from  heaven  to  thine  estate, 
See  how  the  Mighty  shrink  into  a song  ! 15 

Can  Volume,  Pillar,  Pile  preserve  thee  great  ? 

Or  must  thou  trust  tradition’s  simple  tongue, 

When  Flattery  sleeps  with  thee,  and  History  does  thee 
wrong  ? 


SPAIN. 


39 


Awake,  ye  sons  of  Spain  ! awake ! advance  ! 

Lo  ! Chivalry,  your  ancient  goddess,  cries,  20 

But  wields  not,  as  of  old,  her  thirsty  lance, 

Nor  shakes  her  crimson  plumage  in  the  skies : 

Now  on  the  smoke  of  blazing  bolts  she  flies, 

And  speaks  in  thunder  through  yon  engine’s  roar  : 
I11  every  peal  she  calls  — “ Awake  ! arise  ! ” 25 

Say,  is  her  voice  more  feeble  than  of  yore, 

When  her  war-song  was  heard  on  Andalusia’s  shore  ? 


Hark  ! heard  you  not  those  hoofs  of  dreadful  note  ? 
Sounds  not  the  clang  of  conflict  on  the  heath  ? 

Saw  ye  not  whom  the  reeking  sabre  smote,  30 

Nor  saved  your  brethren  ere  they  sank  beneath 
Tyrants  and  tyrants’  slaves  ? — the  fires  of  death, 
The  bale-fires  flash  on  high  : — from  rock  to  rock 
Each  volley  tells  that  thousands  cease  to  breathe ; 
Death  rides  upon  the  sulphury  Siroc,  35 

Red  Battle  stamps  his  foot,  and  nations  feel  the  shock. 


40 


LORD  BYRON. 


SOLITUDE. 


To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o’er  flood  and  fell, 

To  slowly  trace  the  forest’s  shady  scene, 

Where  things  that  own  not  man’s  dominion  dwell, 
And  mortal  foot  hath  ne’er  or  rarely  been ; 

To  climb  the  trackless  mountain  all  unseen,  5 

With  the  wild  flock  that  never  needs  a fold : 

Alone  o’er  steeps  and  foaming  falls  to  lean ; 

This  is  not  solitude  ; ’tis  but  to  hold 
Converse  with  Nature’s  charms,  and  view  her  stores  un- 
roll’d. 

But  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men,  10 
To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel,  and  to  possess, 

And  roam  along,  the  world’s  tired  denizen, 

With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless ; 
Minions  of  splendor  shrinking  from  distress ! 

None  that,  with  kindred  consciousness  endued,  15 
If  we  were  not,  would  seem  to  smile  the  less 
Of  all  that  flatter’d,  follow’d,  sought,  and  sued ; 
This  is  to  be  alone  ; this,  this  is  solitude. 


LEUCAJDIA . 


41 


LEUCADIA. 


Childe  Harold  sailed,  and  passed  the  barren  spot, 
Where  sad  Penelope  overlooked  the  wave ; 

And  onward  viewed  the  mount,  not  yet  forgot, 

The  lover’s  refuge,  and  the  Lesbian’s  grave. 

Dark  Sappho  ! could  not  verse  immortal  save  5 
That  breast  imbued  with  such  immortal  fire  ? 

Could  she  not  live  who  life  eternal  gave  ? 

If  life  eternal  may  await  the  lyre, 

That  only  Heaven  to  which  Earth’s  children  may  aspire. 


’Twas  on  a Grecian  autumn’s  gentle  eve  10 

Childe  Harold  hailed  Leucadia’s  cape  afar ; 

A spot  he  longed  to  see,  nor  cared  to  leave  : 

Oft  did  he  mark  the  scenes  of  vanished  war, 
Actium,  Lepanto,  fatal  Trafalgar; 

Mark  them  unmoved,  for  he  would  not  delight  15 
(Born  beneath  some  remote  inglorious  star) 

In  themes  of  bloody  fray,  or  gallant  fight, 

But  loathed  the  bravo’s  trade,  and  laughed  at  martial 
wight. 


42 


LORD  BYRON . 


But  when  he  saw  the  evening  star  above 
Leucadia’s  far-projecting  rock  of  woe,  20 

And  hailed  the  last  resort  of  fruitless  love, 

He  felt,  or  deemed  he  felt,  no  common  glow : 

And  as  the  stately  vessel  glided  slow 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  that  ancient  mount, 

He  watched  the  billows’  melancholy  flow,  25 

And,  sunk  albeit  in  thought  as  he  was  wont, 

More  placid  seemed  his  eye,  and  smooth  his  pallid  front. 


GREECE. 


43 


GBEECE. 


Fair  Greece  ! sad  relic  of  departed  worth ! 
Immortal,  though  no  more  ; though  fallen,  great ! 
Who  now  shall  lead  thy  scatter’d  children  forth, 
And  long  accustom’d  bondage  uncreate  ? 

Not  such  thy  sons  who  whilome  did  await,  5 

The  hopeless  warriors  of  a willing  doom, 

In  bleak  Thermopylae’s  sepulchral  strait  — 

Oh  ! who  that  gallant  spirit  shall  resume, 

Leap  from  Eurotas’  banks,  and  call  thee  from  the  tomb  ? 


Spirit  of  freedom  ! when  on  Phyle’s  brow  10 

Thou  sat’st  with  Thrasybulus  and  his  train, 

Couldst  thou  forbode  the  dismal  hour  which  now 
Dims  the  green  beauties  of  thine  Attic  plain  ? 

Not  thirty  tyrants  now  enforce  the  chain, 

But  every  carle  can  lord  it  o’er  thy  land ; 15 

Nor  rise  thy  sons,  but  idly  rail  in  vain, 

Trembling  beneath  the  scourge  of  Turkish  hand, 
From  birth  till  death  enslaved;  in  word,  in  deed,  un- 
mann’d. 


44 


LORD  BYRON. 


In  all  save  form  alone,  how  changed ! and  who 
That  marks  the  fire  still  sparkling  in  each  eye,  20 
Who  but  would  deem  their  bosoms  burn’d  anew 
With  thy  unquenched  beam,  lost  Liberty ! 

And  many  dream  withal  the  hour  is  nigh 
That  gives  them  back  their  fathers’  heritage : 

For  foreign  arms  and  aid  they  fondly  sigh,  25 

Nor  solely  dare  encounter  hostile  rage, 

Or  tear  their  name  defiled  from  Slavery’s  mournful  page. 

Hereditary  bondsmen  ! know  ye  not 
Who  would  be  free  themselves  must  strike  the  blow  ? 
By  their  right  arms  the  conquest  must  be  wrought  ? 
Will  Gaul  or  Muscovite  redress  ye  ? no!  31 

True,  they  may  lay  your  proud  despoilers  low, 

But  not  for  you  will  Freedom’s  altars  flame. 

Shades  of  the  Helots  ! triumph  o’er  your  foe  ! 
Greece  ! change  thy  lords,  thy  state  is  still  the  same ; 
Thy  glorious  day  is  o’er,  but  not  thine  years  of  shame.  36 

The  city  won  for  Allah  from  the  Giaour, 

The  Giaour  from  Othman’s  race  again  may  wrest ; 

And  the  Serai’s  impenetrable  tower 

Beceive  the  fiery  Frank,  her  former  guest ; 40 

Or  Wahab’s  rebel  brood  who  dared  divest 

The  prophet’s  tomb  of  all  its  pious  spoil, 

May  wind  their  path  of  blood  along  the  West ; 

But  ne’er  will  freedom  seek  this  fated  soil, 

But  slave  succeed  to  slave  through  years  of  endless  toil. 


GREECE . 


45 


When  riseth  Lacedaemon’s  hardihood,  46 

When  Thebes  Epaminondas  rears  again, 

When  Athens’  children  are  with  hearts  endued, 
When  Grecian  mothers  shall  give  birth  to  men, 
Then  may’st  thou  be  restored  ; but  not  till  then  ! 50 
A thousand  years  scarce  serve  to  form  a state ; 

An  hour  may  lay  it  in  the  dust : and  when 
Can  man  its  shatter’d  splendor  renovate, 

Eecall  its  virtues  back,  and  vanquish  Time  and  Fate  ? 

And  yet  how  lovely  in  thine  age  of  woe,  55 

Land  of  lost  gods  and  godlike  men ! art  thou ! 

Thy  vales  of  evergreen,  thy  hills  of  snow, 

Proclaim  thee  Nature’s  varied  favorite  now ; 

Thy  fanes,  thy  temples  to  thy  surface  bow, 
Commingling  slowly  with  heroic  earth,  60 

Broke  by  the  share  of  every  rustic  plough : 

So  perish  monuments  of  mortal  birth, 

So  perish  all  in  turn,  save  well-recorded  Worth; 

Save  where  some  solitary  column  mourns 
Above  its  prostrate  brethren  of  the  cave ; 65 

Save  where  Tritonia’s  airy  shrine  adorns 
Colonna’s  cliff,  and  gleams  along  the  wave ; 

Save  o’er  some  warrior’s  half-forgotten  grave, 
Where  the  gray  stones  and  unmolested  grass 
Ages,  but  not  oblivion,  feebly  brave,  70 

While  strangers  only  not  regardless  pass, 

Lingering  like  me,  perchance,  to  gaze,  and  sigh  “ Alas  ! ” 


46 


LORD  BYRON . 


Yet  are  thy  skies  as  blue,  thy  crags  as  wild ; 
Sweet  are  thy  groves,  and  verdant  are  thy  fields, 
Thine  olive  ripe  as  when  Minerva  smiled, 

And  still  his  honied  wealth  Hymettus  yields ; 
There  the  blithe  bee  his  fragrant  fortress  builds, 
The  freeborn  wanderer  of  thy  mountain-air ; 
Apollo  still  thy  long,  long  summer  gilds, 

Still  in  his  beam  Mendeli’s  marbles  glare ; 

Art,  Glory,  Freedom  fail,  but  Nature  still  is  fair. 

Where’er  we  tread  ’tis  haunted,  holy  ground, 

No  earth  of  thine  is  lost  in  vulgar  mould, 

But  one  vast  realm  of  wonder  spreads  around, 
And  all  the  Muse’s  tales  seem  truly  told, 

Till  the  sense  aches  with  gazing  to  behold 
The  scenes  our  earliest  dreams  have  dwelt  upon : 
Each  hill  and  dale,  each  deepening  glen  and  wold 
Defies  the  power  which  crush’d  thy  temples  gone 
Age  shakes  Athena’s  tower,  but  spares  gray  Marathon. 


75 

80 

85 

90 


LEAVING  ENGLAND  THE  LAST  TIME . 47 


LEAVING  ENGLAND  THE  LAST  TIME. 


Is  thy  face  like  thy  mother’s,  my  fair  child ! 

Ada  ! sole  daughter  of  my  house  and  heart  ? 

When  last  I saw  thy  young  blue  eyes  they  smiled, 
And  then  we  parted,  — not  as  now  we  part, 

But  with  a hope.  — 

Awaking  with  a start,  5 

The  waters  heave  around  me  ; and  on  high 
The  winds  lift  up  their  voices : I depart, 

Whither  I know  not ; but  the  hour’s  gone  by, 

When  Albion’s  lessening  shores  could  grieve  or  glad 
mine  eye. 

Once  more  upon  the  waters  ! yet  once  more  ! 10 

And  the  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  a steed 
That  knows  his  rider.  Welcome  to  the  roar  ! 

Swift  be  their  guidance,  wheresoe’er  it  lead ! 
Though  the  strain’d  mast  should  quiver  as  a reed, 
And  the  rent  canvas  fluttering  strew  the  gale,  15 
Still  must  I on ; for  I am  as  a weed, 

Flung  from  the  rock,  on  Ocean’s  foam,  to  sail 
Where’er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest’s  breath 
prevail. 


48 


LORI)  BYRON . 


WATERLOO. 


There  was  a sound  of  revelry  by  night, 

And  Belgium’s  capital  had  gather’d  then 
Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry,  and  bright 
The  lamps  shone  o’er  fair  women  and  brave  men ; 

A thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ; and  when  5 

Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  look’d  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a marriage-bell ; 

But  hush!  hark!  a deep  sound  strikes  like  a rising  knell! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? — Ho ; ’twas  but  the  wind,  10 
Or  the  car  rattling  o’er  the  stony  street ; 

On  with  the  dance  ! let  joy  be  unconfined ; 

Ho  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet  — 

But,  hark  ! — that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 16 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before ! 

Arm  ! Arm  ! it  is  — it  is  — the  cannon’s  opening  roar  ! 

Within  a window’d  niche  of  that  high  hall 

Sate  Brunswick’s  fated  chieftain  ; he  did  hear  20 


WATERLOO . 


49 


That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 

And  caught  its  tone  with  Death’s  prophetic  ear ; 
And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deem’d  it  near, 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well 
Which  stretch’d  his  father  on  a bloody  bier,  25 
And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell : 
He  rush’d  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting,  fell. 


Ah  ! then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago  30 
Blush’d  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness ; 

And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
Which  ne’er  might  be  repeated  ; who  could  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes,  35 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise ! 


And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste : the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 40 

And  the  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar  ; 

And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Boused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star ; 

While  throng’d  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 

Or  whispering,  with  white  lips  — “ The  foe  ! they  come  ! 
they  come  ! ” 


45 


50 


LORD  BYRON . 


And  wild  and  high  the  “Cameron’s  gathering”  rose! 
The  war-note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyn’s  hills 
Have  heard,  and  heard,  too,  have  her  Saxon  foes ; — 
How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pibroch  thrills, 
Savage  and  shrill ! But  with  the  breath  which  fills 
Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers  51 
With  the  fierce  native  daring  which  instils 
The  stirring  memory  of  a thousand  years, 

And  Evan’s,  Donald’s  fame  rings  in  each  clansman’s  ears! 

And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves,  55 
Dewy  with  nature’s  tear-drops,  as  they  pass, 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e’er  grieves, 

Over  the  unreturning  brave,  — alas  ! 

Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass 
Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow  60 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 
Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe 
And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  moulder  cold  and  low. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 

Last  eve  in  Beauty’s  circle  proudly  gay,  65 

The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife, 
The  morn  the  marshalling  in  arms, — the  day 
Battle’s  magnificently-stern  array  ! 

The  thunder-clouds  close  o’er  it,  which  when  rent 
The  earth  is  cover’d  thick  with  other  clay,  70 

Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heap’d  and  pent, 
Rider  and  horse, — friend,  foe, — in  one  red  burial  blent! 


THE  DRACHENFELS. 


THE  DRACHENFELS. 


The  castled  crag  of  Drachenfels 
Frowns  o’er  the  wide  and  winding  Rhine, 
Whose  breast  of  waters  broadly  swells 
Between  the  banks  which  bear  the  vine, 

And  hills  all  rich  with  blossom’d  trees  ; 

And  fields  which  promise  corn  and  wine, 

And  scatter’d  cities  crowning  these, 

Whose  far  white  walls  along  them  shine, 
Have  strew’d  a scene,  which  I should  see 
With  double  joy  wert  thou  with  me. 

And  peasant  girls,  with  deep  blue  eyes, 

And  hands  which  offer  early  flowers, 

Walk  smiling  o’er  this  paradise ; 

Above,  the  frequent  feudal  towers 
Through  green  leaves  lift  their  walls  of  gray, 
And  many  a rock  which  steeply  lowers, 

And  noble  arch  in  proud  decay, 

Look  o’er  this  vale  of  vintage-bowers  ; 

But  one  thing  want  these  banks  of  Rhine, — 
Thy  gentle  hand  to  clasp  in  mine ! 


52 


LORD  BYRON . 


I send  the  lilies  given  to  me ; 

Though  long  before  thy  hand  they  touch, 

I know  that  they  must  wither’d  be, 

But  yet  reject  them  not  as  such ; 

For  I have  cherish’d  them  as  dear, 

Because  they  yet  may  meet  thine  eye, 

And  guide  thy  soul  to  mine  even  here, 

When  thou  behold’st  them  drooping  nigh, 
And  know’st  them  gather’d  by  the  Rhine, 
And  offer’d  from  my  heart  to  thine  ! 

The  river  nobly  foams  and  flows, 

The  charm  of  this  enchanted  ground, 

And  all  its  thousand  turns  disclose 
Some  fresher  beauty  varying  round : 

The  haughtiest  breast  its  wish  might  bound ; 
Through  life  to  dwell  delighted  here ; 

Nor  could  on  earth  a spot  be  found 
To  nature  and  to  me  so  dear, 

Could  thy  dear  eyes  in  following  mine 
Still  sweeten  more  these  banks  of  Rhine ! 


25 

30 

35 

40 


LAKE  LEMAN . 


53 


LAKE  LEMAN. 


Lake  Leman  woos  me  with  its  crystal  face, 

The  mirror  where  the  stars  and  mountains  view 
The  stillness  of  their  aspect  in  each  trace 
Its  clear  depth  yields  of  their  far  height  and  hue. 
There  is  too  much  of  man  here,  to  look  through  5 
With  a fit  mind  the  might  which  I behold  ; 

But  soon  in  me  shall  loneliness  renew 
Thoughts  hid,  but  not  less  cherished  than  of  old, 
Ere  mingling  with  the  herd  had  penned  me  in  their 
fold. 

To  fly  from  need  not  be  to  hate  mankind,  10 

All  are  not  fit  with  them  to  stir  and  toil, 

Nor  is  it  discontent  to  keep  the  mind 

Deep  in  its  fountain,  lest  it  overboil 

In  the  hot  throng,  where  we  become  the  spoil 

Of  our  infection,  till  too  late  and  long  15 

We  may  deplore  and  struggle  with  the  coil, 

In  wretched  interchange  of  wrong  for  wrong 
Midst  a contentious  world,  striving  where  none  are 
strong. 


54 


LORD  BYRON. 


There,  in  a moment,  we  may  plunge  our  years 
In  fatal  penitence,  and  in  the  blight  20 

Of  our  own  soul  turn  all  our  blood  to  tears, 

And  color  things  to  come  with  hues  of  night ; 

The  race  of  life  becomes  a hopeless  flight 
To  those  that  walk  in  darkness : on  the  sea, 

The  boldest  steer  but  where  their  ports  invite,  25 
But  there  are  wanderers  o’er  Eternity 
Whose  bark  drives  on  and  on,  and  anchored  ne’er  shall 
be. 

Is  it  not  better,  then,  to  be  alone, 

And  love  Earth  only  for  its  earthly  sake  ? 

By  the  blue  rushing  of  the  arrowy  Rhone,  30 

Or  the  pure  bosom  of  its  nursing  lake, 

Which  feeds  it  as  a mother  who  doth  make 
A fair  but  froward  infant  her  own  care, 

Kissing  its  cries  away  as  these  awake,  — 

Is  it  not  better  thus  our  lives  to  wear,  35 

Than  join  the  crushing  crowd,  doomed  to  inflict  or  bear  ? 

I live  not  in  myself,  but  I become 

Portion  of  that  around  me  ; and  to  me 

High  mountains  are  a feeling,  but  the  hum 

Of  human  cities  torture  ; I can  see  40 

Nothing  to  loathe  in  nature,  save  to  be 

A link  reluctant  in  a fleshly  chain, 

Classed  among  creatures,  when  the  soul  can  flee, 
And  with  the  sky,  the  peak,  the  heaving  plain 
Of  ocean,  or  the  stars,  mingle,  and  not  in  vain. 


LAKE  LEMAN . 


55 


And  thus  I am  absorbed,  and  this  is  life  : 

I look  upon  the  peopled  desert  past, 

As  on  a place  of  agony  and  strife, 

Where  for  some  sin  to  sorrow  I was  cast, 

To  act  and  suffer,  but  remount  at  last  50 

With  a fresh  pinion  ; which  I feel  to  spring, 
Though  young,  yet  waxing  vigorous  as  the  blast 
Which  it  would  cope  with,  on  delighted  wing, 
Spurning  the  clay-cold  bonds  which  round  our  being  cling. 

And  when  at  length,  the  mind  shall  be  all  free  55 
From  what  it  hates  in  this  degraded  form, 

Eeft  of  its  carnal  life,  save  what  shall  be 
Existent  happier  in  the  fly  and  worm,  — 

When  elements  to  elements  conform, 

And  dust  is  as  it  should  be,  shall  I not  60 

Feel  all  I see,  less  dazzling,  but  more  warm  ? 

The  bodiless  thought,  the  Spirit  of  each  spot, 

Of  which,  even  now,  I share  at  times  the  immortal  lot  ? 

Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies  a part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I of  them  ? 65 

Is  not  the  love  of  these  deep  in  my  heart 
With  a pure  passion  ? should  I not  contemn 
All  objects,  if  compared  with  these  ? and  stem 
A tide  of  suffering,  rather  than  forego 
Such  feelings  for  the  hard  and  worldly  phlegm  70 
Of  those  whose  eyes  are  only  turned  below 
Gazing  upon  the  ground,  with  thoughts  which  dare  not 
glow  ? 


56 


LORD  BYRON. 


Clear,  placid  Leman ! thy  contrasted  lake, 

With  the  wild  world  I dwelt  in,  is  a thing 
Which  warns  me,  with  its  stillness,  to  forsake  75 
Earth’s  troubled  waters  for  a purer  spring. 

This  quiet  sail  is  as  a noiseless  wing 
To  waft  me  from  distraction ; once  I loved 
Torn  ocean’s  roar,  but  thy  soft  murmuring 
Sounds  sweet  as  if  a Sister’s  voice  reproved,  so 
That  I with  stern  delights  should  e’er  have  been  so  moved. 

It  is  the  hush  of  night,  and  all  between 

Thy  margin  and  the  mountains,  dusk,  yet  clear, 

Mellowed  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen, 

Save  darken’d  Jura,  whose  capt  heights  appear  85 
Precipitously  steep  ; and  drawing  near, 

There  breathes  a living  fragrance  from  the  shore, 

Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood  ; on  the  ear 
Drops  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar, 

Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-night  carol  more ; 90 

He  is  an  evening  reveller,  who  makes 
His  life  an  infancy,  and  sings  his  fill ; 

At  intervals,  some  bird  from  out  the  brakes 
Starts  into  voice  a moment,  then  is  still. 

There  seems  a floating  whisper  on  the  hill,  95 

But  that  is  fancy,  for  the  starlight  dews 
All  silently  their  tears  of  love  instil, 

Weeping  themselves  away,  till  they  infuse 
Deep  into  Nature’s  breast  the  spirit  of  her  hues. 


99 


LAKE  LEMAN. 


57 


Thy  sky  is  changed ! — and  such  a change ! Oh  night, 
And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a dark  eye  in  woman  ! Tar  along, 

From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among 
Leaps  the  live  thunder  ! Not  from  one  lone  cloud,  105 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a tongue, 

And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 

Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud ! 

And  this  is  in  the  night : — Most  glorious  night ! 
Thou  wert  not  sent  for  slumber  ! let  me  be  110 

A sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight, 

A portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee ! 

How  the  lit  lake  shines,  a phosophoric  sea, 

And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth ! 

And  now  again  ’tis  black,  — and  now,  the  glee  115 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain-mirth, 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o’er  a young  earthquake’s  birth. 

Now  where  the  swift  Khone  cleaves  his  way  between 
Heights  which  appear  as  lovers  who  have  parted 
In  hate,  whose  mining  depths  so  intervene,  120 
That  they  can  meet  no  more,  though  broken-hearted  ! 
Though  in  their  souls,  which  thus  each  other  thwarted, 
Love  was  the  very  root  of  the  fond  rage 
Which  blighted  their  life’s  bloom,  and  then  departed  : 
Itself  expired,  but  leaving  them  an  age  125 

Of  years  all  winters,  — war  within  themselves  to  wage. 


58 


LORD  BYRON . 


Now,  where  the  quick  Rhone  thus  hath  cleft  his  way, 
The  mightiest  of  the  storms  hath  ta’en  his  stand : 
For  here,  not  one,  but  many  make  their  play, 

And  fling  their  thunder-bolts  from  hand  to  hand,  130 
Flashing  and  cast  around  : of  all  the  band, 

The  brightest  through  these  parted  hills  hath  fork’d 
His  lightnings,  — as  if  he  did  understand, 

That  in  such  gaps  as  desolation  work’d,  134 

There  the  hot  shaft  should  blast  whatever  therein  lurk’d. 

Sky,  mountains,  river,  winds,  lake,  lightning ! ye ! 
With  night,  and  clouds,  and  thunder,  and  a soul 
To  make  these  felt  and  feeling,  well  may  be 
Things  that  have  made  me  watchful ; the  far  roll 
Of  your  departing  voices,  is  the  knoll  140 

Of  what  in  me  is  sleepless,  — if  I rest. 

But  where  of  ye,  oh  tempests  ! is  the  goal  ? 

Are  ye  like  those  within  the  human  breast  ? 

Or  do  ye  find,  at  length,  like  eagles,  some  high  nest  ? 


CLABENS. 


59 


CLABENS. 


Clarens  ! sweet  Clarens,  birthplace  of  deep  love  ! 
Thine  air  is  the  young  breath  of  passionate  thought ; 
Thy  trees  take  root  in  Love ; the  snows  above 
The  very  Glaciers  have  his  colors  caught; 

And  sunset  into  rose-hues  sees  them  wrought  5 
By  rays  which  sleep  there  lovingly  : the  rocks, 

The  permanent  crags,  tell  here  of  Love,  who  sought 
In  them  a refuge  from  the  worldly  shocks, 

Which  stir,  and  sting  the  soul  with  hope  that  woos,  then 
mocks. 

Clarens ! by  heavenly  feet  thy  paths  are  trod,  — 10 
Undying  Love’s  who  here  ascends  a throne 
To  which  the  steps  are  mountains ; where  the  god 
Is  a pervading  life  and  light,  — so  shown 
Hot  on  those  summits  solely,  nor  alone 
In  the  still  cave  and  forest ; o’er  the  flower  15 

His  eye  is  sparkling,  and  his  breath  hath  blown, 
His  soft  and  summer  breath,  whose  tender  power 
Passes  the  strength  of  storms  in  their  most  desolate 
hour. 


60 


LORD  BYliON . 


All  things  are  here  of  him ; from  the  black  pines, 
Which  are  his  shade  on  high,  and  the  loud  roar  20 
Of  torrents,  where  he  listeneth,  to  the  vines 
Which  slope  his  green  path  downward  to  the  shore, 
Where  the  bow’d  waters  meet  him,  and  adore, 
Kissing  his  feet  with  murmurs  ; and  the  wood, 

The  covert  of  old  trees,  with  trunks  all  hoar,  25 
But  light  leaves,  young  as  joy,  stands  where  it  stood, 
Offering  to  him,  and  his,  a populous  solitude. 

A populous  solitude  of  bees  and  birds, 

And  fairy-form’d  and  many-color’d  things, 

Who  worship  him  with  notes  more  sweet  than  words, 
And  innocently  open  their  glad  wings,  31 

Fearless  and  full  of  life  : the  gush  of  springs, 

And  fall  of  lofty  fountains,  and  the  bend 
Of  stirring  branches,  and  the  bud  which  brings 
The  swiftest  thought  of  beauty,  here  extend,  35 
Mingling,  and  made  by  Love,  unto  one  mighty  end. 

He  who  hath  loved  not,  here  would  learn  that  lore, 
And  make  his  heart  a spirit ; he  who  knows 
That  tender  mystery,  will  love  the  more, 

For  this  is  Love’s  recess,  where  vain  men’s  woes,  40 
And  the  world’s  waste,  have  driven  him  far  from  those, 
For  ’tis  his  nature  to  advance  or  die ; 

He  stands  not  still,  but  or  decays,  or  grows 
Into  a boundless  blessing,  which  may  vie 
With  the  immortal  lights,  in  its  eternity. 


45 


CLAEENS . 


61 


’Twas  not  for  fiction  chose  Rousseau  this  spot, 
Peopling  it  with  affections  ; but  he  found 
It  was  the  scene  which  passion  must  allot 
To  the  mind’s  purified  beings  ; ’t  was  the  ground 
Where  early  Love  his  Psyche’s  zone  unbound,  50 
And  hallow’d  it  with  loveliness  : ’tis  lone, 

And  wonderful,  and  deep,  and  hath  a sound, 

And  sense,  and  sight  of  sweetness  ; here  the  Rhone 
Hath  spread  himself  a couch,  the  Alps  have  rear’d  a 
throne. 


62 


LORD  BYRON . 


VENICE. 


I stood  in  Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs ; 

A palace  and  a prison  on  each  hand : 

I saw  from  out  the  wave  her  structures  rise 
As  from  the  stroke  of  the  enchanter’s  wand  : 

A thousand  years  their  cloudy  wings  expand  5 
Around  me,  and  a dying  Glory  smiles 
O’er  the  far  times,  when  many  a subject  land 
Look’d  to  the  winged  Lion’s  marble  piles, 

Where  Venice  sate  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles  ! 

She  looks  a sea  Cybele,  fresh  from  ocean,  10 

Bising  with  her  tiara  of  proud  towers 
At  airy  distance,  with  majestic  motion, 

A ruler  of  the  waters  and  their  powers : 

And  such  she  was ; — her  daughters  had  their  dowers 
Erom  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  exhaustless  East  15 
Pour’d  in  her  lap  all  gems  in  sparkling  showers. 

In  purple  was  she  robed,  and  of  her  feast 
Monarchs  partook,  and  deem’d  their  dignity  increased. 

In  Venice  Tasso’s  echoes  are  no  more, 

And  silent  rows  the  songless  gondolier ; 20 


VENICE. 


63 


Her  palaces  are  crumbling  to  the  shore, 

And  music  meets  not  always  now  the  ear : 

Those  days  are  gone  — but  Beauty  still  is  here. 
States  fall,,  arts  fade  — but  Nature  doth  not  die, 
Nor  yet  forget  how  Venice  once  was  dear, 

The  pleasant  place  of  all  festivity, 

The  revel  of  the  earth,  the  masque  of  Italy  ! 

But  unto  us  she  hath  a spell  beyond 
Her  name  in  story,  and  her  long  array 
Of  mighty  shadows,  whose  dim  forms  despond 
Above  the  dogeless  city’s  vanish’d  sway ; 

Ours  is  a trophy  which  will  not  decay 
With  the  Rialto;  Shylock  and  the  Moor, 

And  Pierre,  cannot  be  swept  or  worn  away  — 
The  keystones  of  the  arch ! though  all  were  o’er 
For  us  repeopled  were  the  solitary  shore. 

The  spouseless  Adriatic  mourns  her  lord; 

And,  annual  marriage  now  no  more  renew’d, 

The  Bucentaur  lies  rotting  unrestored, 

Neglected  garment  of  her  widowhood ! 

St.  Mark  yet  sees  his  lion  where  he  stood, 

Stand,  but  in  mockery  of  his  wither’d  power, 
Over  the  proud  Place  where  an  Emperor  sued, 
And  monarchs  gazed  and  envied  in  the  hour 
When  Venice  was  a queen  with  an  unequall’d  dower. 

I loved  her  from  my  boyhood  — she  to  me 
Was  as  a fairy  city  of  the  heart, 


25 

30 

35 

40 

45 


64 


LORD  BYRON. 


Eising  like  water-columns  from  the  sea, 

Of  joy  the  sojourn,  and  of  wealth  the  mart; 

And  Otway,  Eadcliffe,  Schiller,  Shakespeare’s  art, 
Had  stamp’d  her  image  in  me,  and  even  so, 
Although  I found  her  thus,  we  did  not  part, 
Perchance  even  dearer  in  her  day  of  woe, 

Than  when  she  was  a boast,  a marvel,  and  a show. 


THE  OCEAN . 


65 


THE  OCEAN. 


There  is  a pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 
There  is  a rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 

There  is  society,  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  Sea,  and  music  in  its  roar. 

I love  not  man  the  less,  but  Nature  more, 

From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I steal 
From  all  I may  be,  or  have  been  before, 

To  mingle  with  the  Universe,  and  feel 
What  I can  ne’er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

Boll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  — roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain  ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore  ; — upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A shadow  of  man’s  ravage,  save  his  own, 

When,  for  a moment,  like  a drop  of  rain, 

He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a grave,  unknell’d,  uncoffin’d,  and  unknown. 

His  steps  are  not  upon  thy  paths,  — thy  fields 
Are  not  a spoil  for  him,  — thou  dost  arise 


5 

10 

15 

20 


66 


LORD  BYRON. 


And  shake  him  from  thee;  the  vile  strength  he  wields 
For  earth’s  destruction  thou  dost  all  despise, 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies, 

And  send’st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray 
And  howling,  to  his  Gods,  where  haply  lies  25 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay, 

And  dashest  him  again  to  earth : — there  let  him  lay. 

The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 

And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals,  30 

The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war ; 

These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 

They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar  35 
Alike  the  Armada’s  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee  — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Eome,  Carthage,  what  are  they  ? 
Thy  waters  washed  them  power  while  they  were  free, 
And  many  a tyrant  since ; their  shores  obey  40 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage ; their  decay 
Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts  : — not  so  thou, 
Unchangeable  save  to  thy  wild  waves’  play  — 

Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow  — 
Such  as  creation’s  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now.  45 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty’s  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests ; in  all  time, 


THE  OCEAN. 


67 


Calm  or  convulsed  — in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving ; — boundless,  endless,  and  sublime  — 
The  image  of  Eternity  — the  throne  51 

Of  the  Invisible ; even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made  ; each  zone 
Obeys  thee ; thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

And  I have  loved  thee,  Ocean!  and  my  joy  55 

Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles  onward  : from  a boy 
I wanton’d  with  thy  breakers  — they  to  me 
Were  a delight;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a terror  — ’twas  a pleasing  fear,  60 
For  I was  as  it  were  a child  of  thee, 

And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near, 

And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane  — as  I do  here. 


68 


LORD  BYRON. 


A GRECIAN  SUNSET. 


Slow  sinks,  more  lovely  ere  his  race  be  run, 
Along  Morea’s  hills  the  setting  sun ; 

Not,  as  in  northern  climes,  obscurely  bright, 

But  one  unclouded  blaze  of  living  light ; 

O’er  the  hush’d  deep  the  yellow  beam  he  throws,  6 
Gilds  the  green  wave  that  trembles  as  it  glows ; 

On  old  iEgina’s  rock  and*  Hydra’s  isle 
The  god  of  gladness  sheds  his  parting  smile; 

O’er  his  own  regions  lingering  loves  to  shine, 
Though  there  his  altars  are  no  more  divine.  10 

Descending  fast,  the  mountain-shadows  kiss 
Thy  glorious  gulf,  unconquer’d  Salamis ! 

Their  azure  arches  through  the  long  expanse, 

More  deeply  purpled,  meet  his  mellowing  glance, 
And  tenderest  tints,  along  their  summits  driven,  15 
Mark  his  gay  course,  and  own  the  hues  of  heaven ; 
Till,  darkly  shaded  from  the  land  and  deep, 

Behind  his  Delphian  rock  he  sinks  to  sleep. 

On  such  an  eve  his  palest  beam  he  cast 
When,  Athens  ! here  thy  wisest  look’d  his  last.  20 


A GRECIAN  SUNSET. 


69 


How  watch’d  thy  better  sons  his  farewell  ray, 
That  closed  their  murder’d  sage’s  latest  day ! 

Hot  yet  — not  yet  — Sol  pauses  on  the  hill, 

The  precious  hour  of  parting  lingers  still ; 

But  sad  his  light  to  agonizing  eyes, 

And  dark  the  mountain’s  once  delightful  dyes  ; 
Gloom  o’er  the  lovely  land  he  seem’d  to  pour, 

The  land  where  Phoebus  never  frown’d  before  ; 
But  e’er  he  sunk  below  Citheron’s  head, 

The  cup  of  woe  was  quaff’d  — the  spirit  fled  ; 

The  soul  of  him  that  scorn’d  to  fear  or  fly, 

Who  lived  and  died  as  none  can  live  or  die. 

But,  lo  ! from  high  Hymettus  to  the  plain 
The  queen  of  night  asserts  her  silent  reign ; 

Ho  murky  vapor,  herald  of  the  storm, 

Hides  her  fair  face,  or  girds  her  glowing  form. 
With  cornice  glimmering  as  the  moonbeams  play, 
There  the  white  column  greets  her  grateful  ray, 
And  bright  around,  with  quivering  beams  beset, 
Her  emblem  sparkles  o’er  the  minaret ; 

The  groves  of  olive  scatter’d  dark  and  wide, 
Where  meek  Cephisus  sheds  his  scanty  tide, 

The  cypress  saddening  by  the  sacred  mosque, 

The  gleaming  turret  of  the  gay  kiosk, 

And  sad  and  sombre  mid  the  holy  calm, 

Hear  Theseus’  fane,  yon  solitary  palm  ; 

All,  tinged  with  varied  hues,  arrest  the  eye ; 

And  dull  were  his  that  pass’d  them  heedless  by. 


25 

30 

35 

40 

45 


70 


LOBD  BYBON. 


Again  the  JSgean,  heard  no  more  afar, 

Lulls  his  chafed  breast  from  elemental  war ; 50 

Again  his  waves  in  milder  tints  unfold 
Their  long  expanse  of  sapphire  and  of  gold, 

Mix’d  with  the  shades  of  many  a distant  isle, 

That  frown,  where  gentler  ocean  deigns  to  smile. 


GREECE . 


71 


GREECE. 


Fair  clime ! where  every  season  smiles 
Benignant  o’er  those  blessed  isles, 

Which,  seen  from  far  Colonna’s  height, 

Make  glad  the  heart  that  hails  the  sight, 

And  lend  to  loneliness  delight.  5 

There  mildly  dimpling,  Ocean’s  cheek 
Reflects  the  tints  of  many  a peak 
Caught  by  the  laughing  tides  that  lave 
These  Edens  of  the  eastern  wave : 

And  if  at  times  a transient  breeze  10 

Break  the  blue  crystal  of  the  seas, 

Or  sweep  one  blossom  from  the  trees, 

How  welcome  is  each  gentle  air 
That  wakes  and  wafts  the  odors  there  ! 

For  there  — the  Rose  o’er  crag  or  vale,  15 

Sultana  of  the  Nightingale, 

The  maid  for  whom  his  melody, 

His  thousand  songs  are  heard  on  high, 

Blooms  blushing  to  her  lover’s  tale : 

His  queen,  the  garden  queen,  his  Rose,  20 

Unbent  by  winds,  unchill’d  by  snows, 


72 


LORD  BYRON. 


Far  from  the  winters  of  the  west, 

By  every  breeze  and  season  blest, 

Beturns  the  sweets  by  nature  given 
In  softest  incense  back  to  heaven ; 

And  grateful  yields  that  smiling  sky 
Her  fairest  hue  and  fragrant  sigh. 

And  many  a summer  flower  is  there, 

And  many  a shade  that  love  might  share, 
And  many  a grotto,  meant  for  rest, 

That  holds  the  pirate  for  a guest ; 

Whose  bark  in  sheltering  cove  below 
Lurks  for  the  passing  peaceful  prow, 

Till  the  gay  mariner’s  guitar 
Is  heard,  and  seen  the  evening  star ; 

Then  stealing  with  the  muffled  oar 
Far  shaded  by  the  rocky  shore, 

Kush  the  night-prowlers  on  the  prey, 

And  turn  to  groans  his  roundelay. 

Strange  — that  where  Nature  loved  to  trace, 
As  if  for  Gods,  a dwelling  place, 

And  every  charm  and  grace  hath  mix’t 
Within  the  paradise  she  fix’t, 

There  man,  enamour’d  of  distress, 

Should  mar  it  into  wilderness, 

And  trample,  brute-like,  o’er  each  flower 
That  tasks  not  one  laborious  hour ; 

Nor  claims  the  culture  of  his  hand 
To  bloom  along  the  fairy  land, 

But  springs  as  to  preclude  his  care, 


25 

30 

35 

40 

45 

50 


GREECE. 


73 


And  sweetly  woos  him  — but  to  spare  ! 
Strange  — that  where  all  is  peace  beside, 
There  passion  riots  in  her  pride, 

And  lust  and  rapine  wildly  reign 
To  darken  o’er  the  fair  domain. 

It  is  as  though  the  fiends  prevail’d 
Against  the  seraphs  they  assail’d, 

And,  fix’d  on  heavenly  thrones,  should  dwell 
The  free  inheritors  of  hell ; 

So  soft  the  scene,  so  form’d  for  joy, 

So  curst  the  tyrants  that  destroy ! 

He  who  hath  bent  him  o’er  the  dead 
Ere  the  first  day  of  death  is  fled, 

The  first  dark  day  of  nothingness, 

The  last  of  danger  and  distress 
(Before  Decay’s  effacing  fingers 
Have  swept  the  lines  where  beauty  lingers,) 
And  mark’d  the  mild  angelic  air, 

The  rapture  of  repose  that’s  there, 

The  fix’t  yet  tender  traits  that  streak 
The  languor  of  the  placid  cheek, 

And  — but  for  that  sad  shrouded  eye, 

That  fires  not,  wins  not,  weeps  not,  now, 

And  but  for  that  chill,  changeless  brow, 
Where  cold  Obstruction’s  apathy 
Appals  the  gazing  mourner’s  heart, 

As  if  to  him  it  could  impart 

The  doom  he  dreads,  yet  dwells  upon ; 


55 

60 

65 

70 

75 


74 


LORD  BYRON . 


Yes,  but  for  these  and  these  alone, 

Some  moments,  ay,  one  treacherous  hour,  so 
He  still  might  doubt  the  tyrant’s  power ; 

So  fair,  so  calm,  so  softly  seal’d, 

The  first,  last  look  by  death  reveal’d  ! 

Such  is  the  aspect  of  this  shore  ; 

’Tis  Greece,  but  living  Greece  no  more ! 85 

So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair, 

We  start,  for  soul  is  wanting  there. 

Hers  is  the  loveliness  in  death, 

That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath  ; 

But  beauty  with  that  fearful  bloom,  90 

That  hue  which  haunts  it  to  the  tomb, 
Expression’s  last  receding  ray, 

A gilded  halo  hovering  round  decay, 

The  farewell  beam  of  Feeling  past  away ! 

Spark  of  that  flame,  perchance  of  heavenly  birth,  95 
Which  gleams,  but  warms  no  more  its  cherished  earth  ! 

Clime  of  the  unforgotten  brave  ! 

Whose  land  from  plain  to  mountain-cave 
Was  Freedom’s  home  or  Glory’s  grave  ! 

Shrine  of  the  mighty  ! can  it  be,  100 

That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee  ? 

Approach,  thou  craven  crouching  slave : 

Say,  is  not  this  Thermopylae  ? 

These  waters  blue  that  round  you  lave, 

Oh  servile  offspring  of  the  free  — 

Pronounce  what  sea,  what  shore  is  this  ? 


105 


GREECE . 


75 


The  gulf,  the  rock  of  Salamis ! 

These  scenes,  their  story  not  unknown, 

Arise,  and  make  again  your  own  ; 

Snatch  from  the  ashes  of  your  sires 

The  embers  of  their  former  fires  ; no 

And  he  who  in  the  strife  expires 

Will  add  to  theirs  a name  of  fear 

That  Tyranny  shall  quake  to  hear, 

And  leave  his  sons  a hope,  a fame, 

They  too  will  rather  die  than  shame : 115 

For  Freedom’s  battle  once  begun, 

Bequeath’d  by  bleeding  Sire  to  Son, 

Though  baffled  oft,  is  ever  won. 

Bear  witness,  Greece,  thy  living  page, 

Attest  it  many  a deathless  age  ! 120 

While  kings,  in  dusty  darkness  hid, 

Have  left  a nameless  pyramid, 

Thy  heroes,  though  the  general  doom 
Hath  swept  the  column  from  their  tomb, 

A mightier  monument  command,  125 

The  mountains  of  their  native  land ! 

There  points  thy  Muse  to  stranger’s  eye 
The  graves  of  those  that  cannot  die ! 

’Twere  long  to  tell  and  sad  to  trace, 

Each  step  from  splendor  to  disgrace  ; 130 

Enough  — no  foreign  foe  could  quell 
Thy  soul,  till  from  itself  it  fell ; 

Yes  ! Self-abasement  paved  the  way 
To  villain  bonds  and  despot  sway. 


76 


LORD  BYRON. 


ODE  TO  NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE. 


’T  is  done,  — but  yesterday  a King ! 

And  arm’d  with  Kings  to  strive  — 

And  now  tliou  art  a nameless  thing : 

So  abject  — yet  alive  ! 

Is  this  the  man  of  thousand  thrones, 

Who  strew’, d our  earth  with  hostile  bones, 
And  can  he  thus  survive  ? — 

Since  he,  miscall’d  the  Morning  Star, 

Nor  man  nor  fiend  hath  fallen  so  far. 

Ill-minded  man  ! why  scourge  thy  kind 
Who  bow’d  so  low  the  knee  ? 

By  gazing  on  thyself  grown  blind, 

Thou  taught’st  the  rest  to  see. 

With  might  unquestion’d,  — power  to  save,  — 
Thine  only  gift  hath  been  the  grave 
To  those  that  worshipp’d  thee ; 

Nor  till  thy  fall  could  mortals  guess 
Ambition’s  less  than  littleness  ! 

Thanks  for  that  lesson  — it  will  teach 
To  after-warriors  more 


5 

10 

15 


20 


ODE  TO  NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE . 


Than  high  Philosophy  can  preach, 

And  vainly  preach’d  before. 

That  spell  upon  the  minds  of  men 
Breaks  never  to  unite  again, 

That  led  them  to  adore 
Those  Pagod  things  of  sabre  sway, 

With  fronts  of  brass,  and  feet  of  clay. 

The  triumph,  and  the  vanity, 

The  rapture  of  the  strife  — 

The  earthquake  voice  of  Victory, 

To  thee  the  breath  of  life  ; 

The  sword,  the  sceptre,  and  that  sway 
Which  man  seem’d  made  but  to  obey, 
Wherewith  renown  was  rife  — 

All  quell’d  ! — Dark  Spirit ! what  must  be 
The  madness  of  thy  memory  ! 

The  Desolater  desolate  ? 

The  Victor  overthrown  ! 

The  Arbiter  of  others’  fate 
A Suppliant  for  his  own ! 

Is  it  some  yet  imperial  hope 

That  with  such  change  can  calmly  cope  ? 

Or  dread  of  death  alone  ? 

To  die  a prince  — or  live  a slave  — 

Thy  choice  is  most  ignobly  brave ! 

He  who  of  old  would  rend  the  oak, 
Dream’d  not  of  the  rebound ; 


78 


LORD  BYRON. 


Chain’d  by  the  trunk  he  vainly  broke  — 

Alone  — how  look’d  he  round  ? 

Thou  in  the  sternness  of  thy  strength  50 

An  equal  deed  hast  done  at  length, 

And  darker  fate  hast  found ; 

He  fell,  the  forest  prowlers’  prey ; 

But  thou  must  eat  thy  heart  away ! 

The  Boman  when  his  burning  heart  55 

Was  slaked  with  blood  of  Kome, 

Threw  down  the  dagger  — dared  depart, 

In  savage  grandeur,  home.  — 

He  dared  depart  in  utter  scorn 
Of  men  that  such  a yoke  had  borne,  60 

Yet  left  him  such  a doom  ! 

His  only  glory  was  that  hour 
Of  self-upheld  abandon’d  power. 

The  Spaniard,  when  the  lust  of  sway 

Had  lost  its  quickening  spell,  65 

Cast  crowns  for  rosaries  away, 

An  empire  for  a cell ; 

A strict  accountant  of  his  beads, 

A subtle  disputant  on  creeds, 

His  dotage  trifled  well : 70 

Yet  better  had  he  never  known 
A bigot’s  shrine,  nor  despot’s  throne. 

But  thou  — from  thy  reluctant  hand 
The  thunderbolt  is  wrung  — 


ODE  TO  NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE . 


79 


Too  late  thou  leav’st  the  high  command  75 

To  which  thy  weakness  clung ; 

All  Evil  Spirit  as  thou  art, 

It  is  enough  to  grieve  the  heart 
To  see  thine  own  unstrung ; 

To  think  that  God’s  fair  world  hath  been  so 
The  footstool  of  a thing  so  mean ; 

And  Earth  hath  spilt  her  blood  for  him, 

Who  thus  can  hoard  his  own  ! 

And  Monarchs  bow’d  the  trembling  limb, 

And  thank’d  him  for  a throne  ! 85 

Fair  Freedom  ! we  may  hold  thee  dear, 

When  thus  thy  mightiest  foes  their  fear 
In  humblest  guise  have  shown. 

Oh  ! ne’er  may  tyrant  leave  behind 
A brighter  name  to  lure  mankind ! 90 

Thine  evil  deeds  art  writ  in  gore, 

Nor  written  thus  in  vain  — 

Thy  triumphs  tell  of  fame  no  more, 

Or  deepen  every  stain  : 

If  thou  hadst  died  as  honor  dies,  95 

Some  new  Napoleon  might  arise, 

To  shame  the  world  again  — 

But  who  would  soar  the  solar  height, 

To  set  in  such  a starless  night  ? 

Weigh’d  in  the  balance,  hero  dust 
Is  vile  as  vulgar  clay ; 


100 


80 


LORD  BYRON. 


Thy  scales,  Mortality  ! are  just 
To  all  that  pass  away : 

But  yet  methought  the  living  great 
Some  higher  sparks  should  animate,  105 

To  dazzle  and  dismay ; 

Nor  deem’d  Contempt  could  thus  make  mirth 
Of  these,  the  Conquerors  of  the  earth. 

And  she,  proud  Austria’s  mournful  flower, 

Thy  still  imperial  bride  ; no 

How  bears  her  breast  the  torturing  hour  ? 

Still  clings  she  to  thy  side  ? 

Must  she  too  bend,  must  she  too  share 
Thy  late  repentance,  long  despair, 

Thou  throneless  Homicide  ? 115 

If  still  she  loves  thee,  hoard  that  gem, 

’Tis  worth  thy  vanish’d  diadem ! 

Then  haste  thee  to  thy  sullen  Isle, 

And  gaze  upon  the  sea ; 

That  element  may  meet  thy  smile  — 120 

It  ne’er  was  ruled  by  thee  ! 

Or  trace  with  thine  all  idle  hand 
In  loitering  mood  upon  the  sand 
That  Earth  is  now  as  free  ! 

That  Corinth’s  pedagogue  hath  now  125 

Transferr’d  his  by-word  to  thy  brow. 

Thou  Timour ! in  his  captive’s  cage 
What  thoughts  will  there  be  thine, 


ODE  TO  NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE . 


81 


While  brooding  in  thy  prison’d  rage  ? 

But  one  — “ The  world  was  mine  ! ” 
Unless,  like  he  of  Babylon, 

All  sense  is  with  thy  sceptre  gone, 

Life  will  not  long  confine 
That  spirit  pour’d  so  widely  forth  — 

So  long  obey’d  — so  little  worth ! 

Or,  like  the  thief  of  fire  from  heaven, 
Wilt  thou  withstand  the  shock  ? 

And  share  with  him,  the  unforgiven, 

His  vulture  and  his  rock  ! 

Foredoom’d  by  God  — by  man  accurst, 
And  that  last  act,  though  not  thy  worst, 
The  very  Fiend’s  arch  mock  ; 

He  in  his  fall  preserved  his  pride, 

And,  if  a mortal,  had  as  proudly  died ! 

There  was  a day  — there  was  an  hour, 
While  earth  was  Gaul’s  — Gaul  thine 
When  that  immeasurable  power 
Unsated  to  resign 
Had  been  an  act  of  purer  fame 
Than  gathers  round  Marengo’s  name, 
And  gilded  thy  decline 
Through  the  long  twilight  of  all  time, 
Despite  some  passing  clouds  of  crime. 

But  thou  forsooth  must  be  a king, 

And  don  the  purple  vest,  — 


130 

135 

140 

145 

150 

155 


LORD  BYRON. 


As  if  that  foolish  robe  could  wring 
Remembrance  from  thy  breast. 

Where  is  that  faded  garment  ? where 
The  gewgaws  thou  wert  fond  to  wear, 

The  star  — the  string  — the  crest  ? 

Vain  froward  child  of  empire  ! say, 

Are  all  thy  playthings  snatch’d  away  ? 

Where  may  the  wearied  eye  repose 
When  gazing  on  the  Great : 

Where  neither  guilty  glory  glows, 

Nor  despicable  state  ? 

Yes  — one  — the  first  — the  last  — the  best 
The  Cincinnatus  of  the  West, 

Whom  envy  dared  not  hate, 

Bequeath’d  the  name  of  Washington, 

To  make  man  blush  there  was  but  one ! 


THE  ISLES  OF  GREECE . 


83 


THE  ISLES  OF  GREECE. 

(SONG  OF  A GREEK.) 


The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece ! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung, 

Where  grew  the  arts  of  war  and  peace,  — 

Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phoebus  sprung ! 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet,  5 

But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 

The  Scian  and  the  Teian  muse, 

The  hero’s  harp,  the  lover’s  lute, 

Have  found  the  fame  your  shores  refuse ; 

Their  place  of  birth  alone  is  mute  10 

To  sounds  which  echo  further  west 
Than  your  sires’  “ Islands  of  the  Blest.” 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon  — 

And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea ; 

And  musing  there  an  hour  alone,  15 

I dream’d  that  Greece  might  still  be  free ; 

For  standing  on  the  Persians’  grave, 

I could  not  deem  myself  a slave. 


84 


LORD  BYRON . 


A king  sate  on  the  rocky  brow 

Which  looks  o’er  sea-born  Salamis ; 20 

And  ships,  by  thousands,  lay  below, 

And  men  in  nations  ; — all  were  his ! 

He  counted  them  at  break  of  day  — 

And  when  the  sun  set  where  were  they  ? 

And  where  are  they  ? and  where  art  thou,  25 
My  country  ? On  thy  voiceless  shore 
The  heroic  lay  is  tuneless  now  — 

The  heroic  bosom  beats  no  more ! 

And  must  thy  lyre,  so  long  divine, 

Degenerate  into  hands  like  mine  ? 30 

’Tis  something,  in  the  dearth  of  fame, 

Though  link’d  among  a fetter’d  race, 

To  feel  at  least  a patriot’s  shame, 

Even  as  I sing,  suffuse  my  face ; 

Eor  what  is  left  the  poet  here  ? 36 

Eor  Greeks  a blush  — for  Greece  a tear. 

Must  we  but  weep  o’er  days  more  blest  ? 

Must  we  but  blush  ? — Our  fathers  bled. 

Earth ! render  back  from  out  thy  breast 

A remnant  of  our  Spartan  dead  ! 40 

Of  the  three  hundred  grant  but  three, 

To  make  a new  Thermopylae  ! 

What,  silent  still  ? and  silent  all  ? 

Ah  ! no ; — the  voices  of  the  dead 


THE  ISLES  OF  GREECE . 


85 


Sound  like  a distant  torrent’s  fall,  45 

And  answer,  “ Let  one  living  head, 

But  one  arise,  — we  come,  we  come  ! ” 

’Tis  but  the  living  who  are  dumb. 

In  vain  — in  vain  : strike  other  chords ; 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  Samian  wine  ! 50 

Leave  battles  to  the  Turkish  hordes, 

And  shed  the  blood  of  Scio’s  vine ! 

Hark  ! rising  to  the  ignoble  call  — 

How  answers  each  bold  Bacchanal ! 

You  have  the  Pyrrhic  dance  as  yet,  55 

Where  is  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  gone  ? 

Of  two  such  lessons,  why  forget 
The  nobler  and  the  manlier  one  ? 

You  have  the  letters  Cadmus  gave  — 

Think  ye  he  meant  them  for  a slave  ? 60 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine  ! 

We  will  not  think  of  themes  like  these ! 

It  made  Anacreon’s  song  divine  : 

He  served  — but  served  Polycrates 
A tyrant ; but  our  masters  then  65 

Were  still,  at  least,  our  countrymen. 

The  tyrant  of  the  Chersonese 

Was  freedom’s  best  and  bravest  friend ; 

That  tyrant  was  Miltiades  ! 

Oh ! that  the  present  hour  would  lend 


70 


86 


LORD  BYRON. 


Another  despot  of  the  kind ! 

Such  chains  as  his  were  sure  to  bind. 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

On  Suli’s  rock,  and  Parga’s  shore, 
Exists  the  remnant  of  a line 

Such  as  the  Doric  mothers  bore ; 

And  there,  perhaps  some  seed  is  sown, 
The  Heracleidan  blood  might  own. 

Trust  not  for  freedom  to  the  Franks  — 
They  have  a king  who  buys  and  sells : 
In  native  swords,  and  native  ranks, 

The  only  hope  of  courage  dwells ; 

But  Turkish  force,  and  Latin  fraud, 
Would  break  your  shield,  however  broad. 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

Our  virgins  dance  beneath  the  shade  — 
I see  their  glorious  black  eyes  shine ; 

But  gazing  on  each  glowing  maid, 

My  own  the  burning  tear-drop  laves, 

To  think  such  breasts  must  suckle  slaves. 

Place  me  on  Sunium’s  marbled  steep, 
Where  nothing,  save  the  waves  and  I, 
May  hear  our  mutual  murmurs  sweep ; 

There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die. 

A land  of  slaves  shall  ne’er  be  mine  — 
Dash  down  yon  cup  of  Samian  wine ! 


75 

80 

85 

90 


AVE  MARIA. 


87 


AYE  MAEIA. 


Ave  Maria  ! blessed  be  the  hour  ! 

The  time,  the  clime,  the  spot,  where  I so  oft 
Have  felt  that  moment  in  its  fullest  power 
Sink  o’er  the  earth  so  beautiful  and  soft, 

While  swung  the  deep  bell  in  the  distant  tower,  5 
Or  the  faint  dying  day-hymn  stole  aloft, 

And  not  a breath  crept  through  the  rosy  air, 

And  yet  the  forest  leaves  seem’d  stirr’d  with  prayer. 

Ave  Maria ! ’tis  the  hour  of  prayer ! 

Ave  Maria  ! ’tis  the  hour  of  love ! 10 

Ave  Maria  ! may  our  spirits  dare 

Look  up  to  thine  and  to  thy  Son’s  above ! 

Ave  Maria ! oh,  that  face  so  fair ! 

Those  downcast  eyes  beneath  the  Almighty  dove  — 
What  though  ’tis  but  a pictured  image  ? — strike  — 15 
That  painting  is  no  idol  — ’tis  too  like. 

Sweet  hour  of  twilight ! — in  the  solitude 
Of  the  pine  forest,  and  the  silent  shore 
Which  bounds  Eavenna’s  immemorial  wood, 

Eooted  where  once  the  Adrian  wave  flowed  o’er,  20 


88 


LORD  BYRON. 


To  where  the  last  Caesarean  fortress  stood, 

Evergreen  forest ! which  Boccaccio’s  lore 
And  Dryden’s  lay  made  haunted  ground  to  me, 

How  have  I loved  the  twilight  hour  and  thee ! 

The  shrill  cicalas,  people  of  the  pine,  25 

Making  their  summer  lives  one  ceaseless  song, 

Were  the  sole  echoes,  save  my  steed’s  and  mine, 

And  vesper  bell’s  that  rose  the  boughs  along ; 

The  spectre  huntsman  of  Onesti’s  line, 

His  hell-dogs,  and  their  chase,  and  the  fair  throng  30 
Which  learn’d  from  this  example  not  to  fly 
From  a true  lover,  — shadow’d  my  mind’s  eye. 

Oh,  Hesperus  ! thou  bringest  all  good  things  — r 
Home  to  the  weary,  to  the  hungry  cheer, 

To  the  young  bird  the  parent’s  brooding  wings,  35 
The  welcome  stall  to  the  o’erlabor’d  steer ; 

Whate’er  of  peace  about  our  hearthstone  clings, 
Whate’er  our  household  gods  protect  of  dear, 

Are  gather’d  round  us  by  thy  look  of  rest ; 

Thou  bring’st  the  child,  too,  to  the  mother’s  breast.  40 

Soft  hour ! which  wakes  the  wish  and  melts  the  heart 
Of  those  who  sail  the  seas,  on  the  first  day 
When  they  from  their  sweet  friends  are  torn  apart ; 

Or  fills  with  love  the  pilgrim  on  his  way 
As  the  far  bell  of  vesper  makes  him  start,  45 

Seeming  to  weep  the  dying  day’s  decay ; 


AVE  MARIA. 


89 


Is  this  a fancy  which  our  reason  scorns  ? 

Ah ! surely  nothing  dies  but  something  mourns  ! 

When  Nero  perish’d  by  the  justest  doom 

Which  ever  the  destroyer  yet  destroy’d,  50 

Amidst  the  roar  of  liberated  Rome, 

Of  nations  freed,  and  the  world  overjoy’d, 

Some  hand  unseen  strew’d  flowers  upon  his  tomb : 
Perhaps  the  weakness  of  a heart  not  void 
Of  feeling  for  some  kindness  done,  when  power  55 
Had  left  the  wretch  an  uncorrupted  hour. 


LORD  BYRON. 


MAZEPPA 


i 

’Twas  after  dread  Pultowa’s  day. 

When  fortune  left  the  royal  Swede, 
Around  a slaughtered  army  lay, 

No  more  to  combat  and  to  bleed. 

The  power  and  glory  of  the  war, 

Faithless  as  their  vain  votaries,  men, 
Had  passed  to  the  triumphant  Czar, 
And  Moscow’s  walls  were  safe  again, 
Until  a day  more  dark  and  drear, 

And  a more  memorable  year, 

Should  give  to  slaughter  and  to  shame 
A mightier  host  and  haughtier  name ; 

A greater  wreck,  a deeper  fall, 

A shock  to  one  — a thunderbolt  to  all. 

n 

Such  was  the  hazard  of  the  die ; 

The  wounded  Charles  was  taught  to  fly 


MAZEPPA. 


91 


By  day  and  night  through  field  and  flood, 

Stained  with  his  own  and  subjects’  blood  ; 

For  thousands  fell  that  flight  to  aid : 

And  not  a voice  was  heard  t’  upbraid  20 

Ambition  in  his  humbled  hour, 

When  Truth  had  nought  to  dread  from  Power. 

His  horse  was  slain,  and  Gieta  gave 
His  own  — and  died  the  Russians’  slave. 

This  too  sinks  after  many  a league  25 

Of  well  sustained,  but  vain  fatigue ; 

And  in  the  depth  of  forests  darkling, 

The  watch-fires  in  the  distance  sparkling  — 

The  beacons  of  surrounding  foes  — 

A king  must  lay  his  limbs  at  length.  30 

Are  these  the  laurels  and  repose 
For  which  the  nations  strain  their  strength  ? 

They  laid  him  by  a savage  tree, 

In  outworn  nature’s  agony ; 

His  wounds  were  stiff,  his  limbs  were  stark ; 35 

The  heavy  hour  was  chill  and  dark ; 

The  fever  in  his  blood  forbade 
A transient  slumber’s  fitful  aid : 

And  thus  it  was ; but  yet  through  all, 

Kinglike  the  monarch  bore  his  fall,  40 

And  made,  in  this  extreme  of  ill, 

His  pangs  the  vassals  of  his  will : 

All  silent  and  subdued  were  they, 

As  once  the  nations  round  him  lay. 


92 


LORD  BYRON. 


hi 

A band  of  chiefs  ! — alas  ! how  few, 

Since  but  the  fleeting  of  a day 
Had  thinned  it ; but  this  wreck  was  true 
And  chivalrous : upon  the  clay 
Each  sate  him  down,  all  sad  and  mute, 

Beside  his  monarch  and  his  steed, 

For  danger  levels  man  and  brute, 

And  all  are  fellows  in  their  need. 

Among  the  rest,  Mazeppa  made 
His  pillow  in  an  old  oak’s  shade  — 

Himself  as  rough,  and  scarce  less  old, 

The  Ukraine’s  hetman,  calm  and  bold ; 

But  first,  outspent  with  this  long  course, 

The  Cossack  prince  rubbed  down  his  horse, 
And  made  for  him  a leafy  bed, 

And  smoothed  his  fetlocks  and  his  mane, 
And  slacked  his  girth,  and  stripped  his  rein, 
And  joyed  to  see  how  well  he  fed ; 

For  until  now  he  had  the  dread 
His  wearied  courser  might  refuse 
To  browse  beneath  the  midnight  dews : 

But  he  was  hardy  as  his  lord, 

And  little  cared  for  bed  and  board ; 

But  spirited  and  docile  too, 

Whate’er  was  to  be  done,  would  do. 

Shaggy  and  swift,  and  strong  of  limb, 

All  Tartar-like  he  carried  him  ; 


45 

60 

65 

60 

65 

70 


MAZEPPA. 


Obeyed  his  voice,  and  came  to  call, 

And  knew  him  in  the  midst  of  all : 

Though  thousands  were  around,  — and  Night, 
Without  a star,  pursued  her  flight,  — 

That  steed  from  sunset  until  dawn 
His  chief  would  follow  like  a fawn. 

IV 

This  done,  Mazeppa  spread  his  cloak, 

And  laid  his  lance  beneath  his  oak, 

Felt  if  his  arms  in  order  good 

The  long  day’s  march  had  well  withstood  — 

If  still  the  powder  filled  the  pan, 

And  flints  unloosened  kept  their  lock — 

His  sabre’s  hilt  and  scabbard  felt, 

And  whether  they  had  chafed  his  belt ; 

And  next  the  venerable  man, 

From  out  his  haversack  and  can, 

Prepared  and  spread  his  slender  stock ; 

And  to  the  monarch  and  his  men 
The  whole  or  portion  offered  them 
With  far  less  of  inquietude 
Than  courtiers  at  a banquet  would. 

And  Charles  of  this  his  slender  share 
With  smiles  partook  a moment  there, 

To  force  of  cheer  a greater  show, 

And  seem  above  both  wounds  and  woe ; 

And  then  he  said  — “ Of  all  our  band, 

Though  firm  of  heart  and  strong  of  hand, 


94 


LORD  BYRON. 


In  skirmish,  march,  or  forage,  none 

Can  less  have  said  or  more  have  done  100 

Than  thee,  Mazeppa ! On  the  earth 

So  fit  a pair  had  never  birth, 

Since  Alexander’s  days  till  now, 

As  thy  Bucephalus  and  thou  : 

All  Scythia’s  fame  to  thine  should  yield  106 

For  pricking  on  o ’er  flood  and  field.” 

Mazeppa  answered  — “ 111  betide 
The  school  wherein  I learned  to  ride  ! ” 

Quoth  Charles  — “ Old  Hetman,  wherefore  so, 

Since  thou  hast  learned  the  art  so  well  ? 99  no 

Mazeppa  said — “ ’Twere  long  to  tell ; 

And  we  have  many  a league  to  go, 

With  every  now  and  then  a blow, 

And  ten  to  one  at  least  the  foe, 

Before  our  steeds  may  graze  at  ease,  115 

Beyond  the  swift  Borysthenes  : 

And,  sire,  your  limbs  have  need  of  rest, 

And  I will  be  the  sentinel 
Of  this  your  troop.”  — “ But  I request,” 

Said  Sweden’s  monarch,  “ thou  wilt  tell  120 

This  tale  of  thine,  and  I may  reap, 

Perchance,  from  this  the  boon  of  sleep ; 

For  at  this  moment  from  my  eyes 
The  hope  of  present  slumber  flies.” 

“ Well,  sire,  with  such  a hope,  I’ll  track  125 

My  seventy  years  of  memory  back : 


MAZEPPA. 


95 


I think  ’twas  in  my  twentieth  spring,  — 
Ay,  ’twas,  — when  Casimir  was  king  — 
John  Casimir,  — I was  his  page 
Six  summers,  in  my  earlier  age : 

A learned  monarch,  faith ! was  he, 

And  most  unlike  your  majesty; 

He  made  no  wars,  and  did  not  gain 
New  realms  to  lose  them  back  again ; 

And,  save  debates  in  Warsaw’s  diet, 

He  reigned  in  most  unseemly  quiet ; 

Not  that  he  had  no  cares  to  vex, 

He  loved  the  muses  and  the  sex ; 

And  sometimes  these  so  froward  are, 

They  made  him  wish  himself  at  war; 

But  soon  his  wrath  being  o’er,  he  took 
Another  mistress,  or  new  book : 

And  then  he  gave  prodigious  fetes  — 

All  Warsaw  gathered  round  his  gates 
To  gaze  upon  his  splendid  court, 

And  dames  and  chiefs,  of  princely  port. 
He  was  the  Polish  Solomon, 

So  sung  his  poets,  all  but  one, 

Who,  being  unpensioned,  made  a satire, 
And  boasted  that  he  could  not  flatter. 

It  was  a court  of  jousts  and  mimes, 

Where  every  courtier  tried  at  rhymes  ; 
Even  I for  once  produced  some  verses, 
And  signed  my  odes  6 Despairing  Thyrsis.’ 
There  was  a certain  Palatine, 


130 

135 

140 

145 

150 

155 


96 


LORD  BYRON. 


A count  of  far  and  high  descent, 

Rich  as  a salt  or  silver  mine ; 

And  he  was  proud,  ye  may  divine, 

As  if  from  heaven  he  had  been  sent : 

He  had  such  wealth  in  blood  and  ore 

As  few  could  match  beneath  the  throne ; 
And  he  would  gaze  upon  his  store, 

And  o’er  his  pedigree  would  pore, 

Until  by  some  confusion  led, 

Which  almost  looked  like  want  of  head, 

He  thought  their  merits  were  his  own. 
His  wife  was  not  of  his  opinion ; 

His  junior  she  by  thirty  years, 

Grew  daily  tired  of  his  dominion ; 

And,  after  wishes,  hopes,  and  fears, 

To  virtue  a few  farewell  tears, 

A restless  dream  or  two,  some  glances 
At  Warsaw’s  youth,  some  songs,  and  dances 
Awaited  but  the  usual  chances, 

Those  happy  accidents  which  render 
The  coldest  dames  so  very  tender, 

To  deck  her  count  with  titles  given, 

’Tis  said,  as  passports  into  heaven ; 

But,  strange  to  say,  they  rarely  boast 
Of  these,  who  have  deserved  them  most. 

v 


160 

165 

170 

175 

180 


u I was  a goodly  stripling  then ; 

At  seventy  years  I so  may  say, 


MAZEPPA. 


97 


That  there  were  few,  or  boys  or  men, 

Who,  in  my  dawning  time  of  day, 

Of  vassal  or  of  knight’s  degree,  iss 

Could  vie  in  vanities  with  me; 

For  I had  strength,  youth,  gaiety, 

A port,  not  like  to  this  ye  see, 

But  smooth,  as  all  is  rugged  now ; 

For  time,  and  care,  and  war,  have  ploughed  190 
My  very  soul  from  out  my  brow ; 

And  thus  I should  be  disavowed 
By  all  my  kind  and  kin,  could  they 
Compare  my  day  and  yesterday  ; 

This  change  was  wrought,  too,  long  ere  age  195 
Had  ta’en  my  features  for  his  page  : 

With  years,  ye  know,  have  not  declined 
My  strength,  my  courage,  or  my  mind, 

Or  at  this  hour  I should  not  be 

Telling  old  tales  beneath  a tree,  200 

With  starless  skies  my  canopy. 

But  let  me  on  : Theresa’s  form  — 

Methinks  it  glides  before  me  now, 

Between  me  and  yon  chestnut’s  bough, 

The  memory  is  so  quick  and  warm ; 206 

And  yet  I find  no  words  to  tell 
The  shape  of  her  I loved  so  well  : 

She  had  the  Asiatic  eye, 

Such  as  our  Turkish  neighborhood 
Hath  mingled  with  our  Polish  blood,  210 

Dark  as  above  us  is  the  sky ; 


98 


LORD  BYRON . 


But  through  it  stole  a tender  light, 

Like  the  first  moonrise  of  midnight ; 

Large,  dark,  and  swimming  in  the  stream, 

Which  seemed  to  melt  to  its  own  beam;  215 

All  love,  half  languor,  and  half  fire, 

Like  saints  that  at  the  stake  expire, 

And  lift  their  raptured  looks  on  high, 

As  though  it  were  a joy  to  die. 

A brow  like  a midsummer  lake,  220 

Transparent  with  the  sun  therein, 

When  waves  no  murmur  dare  to  make, 

And  Heaven  beholds  her  face  within. 

A cheek  and  lip  — but  why  proceed  ? 

I loved  her  then,  I love  her  still ; 225 

And  such  as  I am,  love  indeed 

In  fierce  extremes  — in  good  and  ill. 

But  still  we  love  even  in  our  rage, 

And  haunted  to  our  very  age 

With  the  vain  shadow  of  the  past,  230 

As  is  Mazeppa  to  the  last. 

vi 

“We  met  — we  gazed  — I saw,  and  sighed, 

She  did  not  speak,  and  yet  replied ; 

There  are  ten  thousand  tones  and  signs 

We  hear  and  see,  but  none  defines — 235 

Involuntary  sparks  of  thought, 

Which  strike  from  out  the  heart  o’erwrought, 

And  form  a strange  intelligence, 


MAZEPPA. 


Alike  mysterious  and  intense, 

Which  link  the  burning  chain  that  binds 
Without  their  will,  young  hearts  and  minds 
Conveying,  as  the  electric  wire, 

We  know  not  how,  the  absorbing  fire. 

I saw,  and  sighed  — in  silence  wept, 

And  still  reluctant  distance  kept, 

Until  I was  made  known  to  her, 

And  we  might  then  and  there  confer 
Without  suspicion  — then,  even  then, 

I longed,  and  was  resolved  to  speak ; 

But  on  my  lips  they  died  again, 

The  accents  tremulous  and  weak, 

Until  one  hour.  — There  is  a game, 

A frivolous  and  foolish  play, 

Wherewith  we  while  away  the  day ; 

It  is  — I have  forgot  the  name  — 

And  we  to  this,  it  seems,  were  set, 

By  some  strange  chance,  which  I forget : 

I recked  not  if  I won  or  lost, 

It  was  enough  for  me  to  be 
So  near  to  hear,  and  oh ! to  see 
The  being  whom  I loved  the  most. 

I watched  her  as  a sentinel,  — 

May  ours  this  dark  night  watch  as  well ! 

Until  I saw,  and  thus  it  was, 

That  she  was  pensive,  nor  perceived 
Her  occupation,  nor  was  grieved 
Nor  glad  to  lose  or  gain ; but  still 


100 


LORD  BYRON. 


Played  on  for  hours,  as  if  her  will 
Yet  bound  her  to  the  place,  though  not 
That  hers  might  be  the  winning  lot.  270 

Then  through  my  brain  the  thought  did  pass 
Even  as  a flash  of  lightning  there, 

That  there  was  something  in  her  air 
Which  would  not  doom  me  to  despair ; 

And  on  the  thought  my  words  broke  forth  275 

All  incoherent  as  they  were  — • 

Their  eloquence  was  little  worth, 

But  yet  she  listened  — ’tis  enough  — 

Who  listens  once  will  listen  twice ; 

Her  heart,  be  sure,  is  not  of  ice,  2*0 

And  one  refusal  no  rebuff. 

VII 

“ I loved,  and  was  beloved  again  — 

They  tell  me,  sire,  you  never  knew 
Those  gentle  frailties ; if  ’tis  true, 

I shorten  all  my  joy  or  pain ; 286 

To  you  ’twould  seem  absurd  as  vain ; 

But  all  men  are  not  born  to  reign, 

Or  o’er  their  passions,  or  as  you 
Thus  o’er  themselves  and  nations  too. 

I am  — or  rather  was  — a prince,  290 

A chief  of  thousands,  and  could  lead 
Them  on  where  each  would  foremost  bleed ; 

But  could  not  o’er  myself  evince 


MAZEPPA. 


101 


The  like  control  — But  to  resume : 

I loved,  and  was  beloved  again ; 

In  sooth,  it  is  a happy  doom, 

But  yet  where  happiest  ends  in  pain. 
We  met  in  secret,  and  the  hour 
Which  led  me  to  that  lady’s  bower 
Was  fiery  Expectation’s  dower. 

My  days  and  nights  were  nothing  — all 
‘Except  that  hour  which  doth  recall, 

In  the  long  lapse  from  youth  to  age, 

No  other  like  itself : I’d  give 
The  Ukraine  back  again  to  live 
It  o’er  once  more,  and  be  a page, 

The  happy  page,  who  was  the  lord 
Of  one  soft  heart,  and  his  own  sword, 
And  had  no  other  gem  nor  wealth 
Save  Nature’s  gift  of  youth  and  health. 
We  met  in  secret  — doubly  sweet, 

Some  say,  they  find  it  so  to  meet ; 

I know  not  that  — I would  have  given 
My  life  but  to  have  called  her  mine 
In  the  full  view  of  earth  and  heaven ; 

For  I did  oft  and  long  repine 
That  we  could  only  meet  by  stealth. 

VIII 

“For  lovers  there  are  many  eyes, 

And  such  there  were  on  us ; the  devil 


295 

300 

305 

310 

315 


102 


LORD  BYRON. 


On  such  occasions  should  be  civil — 32c 

The  devil ! — I’m  loth  to  do  him  wrong, 

It  might  be  some  untoward  saint, 

Who  would  not  be  at  rest  too  long, 

But  to  his  pious  bile  gave  vent  — 

But  one  fair  night,  some  lurking  spies  325 

Surprised  and  seized  us  both. 

The  Count  was  something  more  than  wroth  — 

I was  unarmed ; but  if  in  steel 
All  cap-a-pie  from  head  to  heel, 

What  ’gainst  their  numbers  could  I do  ? — 330 

?Twas  near  his  castle,  far  away 
From  city  or  from  succor  near, 

And  almost  on  the  break  of  day ; 

I did  not  think  to  see  another, 

My  moments  seemed  reduced  to  few ; 335 

And  with  one  prayer  to  Mary  Mother, 

And,  it  may  be,  a saint  or  two, 

As  I resigned  me  to  my  fate, 

They  led  me  to  the  castle  gate : 

Theresa’s  doom  I never  knew,  340 

Our  lot  was  henceforth  separate. 

An  angry  man,  ye  may  opine, 

Was  he,  the  proud  Count  Palatine; 

And  he  had  reason  good  to  be, 

But  he  was  most  enraged  lest  such  345 

An  accident  should  chance  to  touch 
Upon  his  future  pedigree ; 

Nor  less  amazed,  that  such  a blot 


MAZEPPA. 


103 


His  noble  ’scutcheon  should  have  got, 

While  he  was  highest  of  his  line ; 

Because  unto  himself  he  seemed 
The  first  of  men,  nor  less  he  deemed 
In  others’  eyes,  and  most  in  mine. 

’Sdeath ! with  a page  — perchance  a king 
Had  reconciled  him  to  the  thing ; 

But  with  a stripling  of  a page  — 

I felt  — but  cannot  paint  his  rage. 

IX 

‘ Bring  forth  the  horse!’  — the  horse  was  brought, 
In  truth,  he  was  a noble  steed, 

A Tartar  of  the  Ukraine  breed, 

Who  looked  as  though  the  speed  of  thought 
Were  in  his  limbs ; but  he  was  wild, 

Wild  as  the  wild  deer,  and  untaught, 

With  spur  and  bridle  undefiled — - 

’Twas  but  a day  he  had  been  caught ; 

And  snorting,  with  erected  mane, 

And  struggling  fiercely,  but  in  vain, 

In  the  full  foam  of  wrath  and  dread 
To  me  the  desert-born  was  led ; 

They  bound  me  on,  that  menial  throng, 

Upon  his  back  with  many  a thong ; 

Then  loosed  him  with  a sudden  lash  — 

Away  ! away  ! and  on  we  dash  ! — 

Torrents  less  rapid  and  less  rash. 


360 

355 

360 

365 

370 


104 


LORD  BYRON . 


X 

“ Away ! away  ! My  breath  was  gone  — 

I saw  not  where  he  hurried  on : 

’Twas  scarcely  yet  the  break  of  day, 

And  on  he  foamed  — away  ! away  ! 

The  last  of  human  sounds  which  rose, 

As  I was  darted  from  my  foes, 

Was  the  wild  shout  of  savage  laughter, 

Which  on  the  wind  came  roaring  after 
A moment  from  that  rabble  rout : 

With  sudden  wrath  I wrenched  my  head, 

And  snapped  the  chord,  which  to  the  mane 
Had  bound  my  neck  in  lieu  of  rein, 

And,  writhing  half  my  form  about, 

Howled  back  my  curse ; but  ’midst  the  tread, 
The  thunder  of  my  courser’s  speed, 

Perchance  they  did  not  hear  nor  heed  : 

It  vexes  me  — for  I would  fain 
Have  paid  their  insult  back  again. 

I paid  it  well  in  after  days  : 

There  is  not  of  that  castle  gate, 

Its  drawbridge  and  portcullis’  weight, 
Stone,  bar,  moat,  bridge,  or  barrier  left ; 

Nor  of  its  fields  a blade  of  grass, 

Save  what  grows  on  a ridge  of  wall, 

Where  stood  the  hearth-stone  of  the  hall ; 
And  many  a time  ye  there  might  pass, 

Nor  dream  that  e’er  that  fortress  was : 


375 

380 

385 

390 

895 

400 


MAZPPPA. 


105 


I saw  its  turrets  in  a blaze, 

Their  crackling  battlements  all  cleft 
And  the  hot  lead  pour  down  like  rain 
From  off  the  scorched  and  blackening  roof, 
Whose  thickness  was  not  vengeance-proof. 

They  little  thought  that  day  of  pain, 
When  launched,  as  on  the  lightning’s  flash, 
They  bade  me  to  destruction  dash, 

That  one  day  I should  come  again, 

With  twice  five  thousand  horse,  to  thank 
The  Count  for  his  uncourteous  ride. 

They  played  me  then  a bitter  prank, 

When,  with  the  wild  horse  for  my  guide, 
They  bound  me  to  his  foaming  flank : 

At  length  I played  them  one  as  frank  — 
For  time  at  last  sets  all  things  even — 

And  if  we  do  but  watch  the  hour, 

There  never  yet  was  human  power 
Which  could  evade,  if  unforgiven, 

The  patient  search  and  vigil  long 
Of  him  who  treasures  up  a wrong. 

XI 

4i  Away ! away  ! my  steed  and  I, 

Upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind, 

All  human  dwellings  left  behind, 

We  sped  like  meteors  through  the  sky, 
When  with  its  crackling  sound  the  night 
Is  chequered  with  the  northern  light. 


405 

410 

415 

420 

425 


106 


LORD  BYRON. 


Town  — village  — none  were  on  our  track, 
But  a wild  plain  of  far  extent, 

And  bounded  by  a forest  black ; 

And,  save  the  scarce  seen  battlement 
On  distant  heights  of  some  stronghold, 
Against  the  Tartars  built  of  old, 

No  trace  of  man.  The  year  before, 

A Turkish  army  had  marched  o’er ; 

And  where  the  Spain’s  hoof  hath  trod, 

The  verdure  flies  the  bloody  sod : 

The  sky  was  dull,  and  dim,  and  gray, 

And  a low  breeze  crept  moaning  by  — 

I could  have  answered  with  a sigh  — 
But  fast  we  fled,  away  ! away  ! 

And  I could  neither  sigh  nor  pray  ; 

And  my  cold  sweat-drops  fell  like  rain 
Upon  the  courser’s  bristling  mane ; 

But,  snorting  still  with  rage  and  fear, 

He  flew  upon  his  far  career : 

At  times  I almost  thought,  indeed, 

He  must  have  slackened  in  his  speed ; 

But  no  — my  bound  and  slender  frame 
Was  nothing  to  his  angry  might, 

And  merely  like  a spur  became : 

Each  motion  which  I made  to  free 
My  swoln  limbs  from  their  agony 
Increased  his  fury  and  affright : 

I tried  my  voice,  — ’twas  faint  and  low, 
But  yet  he  swerved  as  from  a blow, 


430 

435 

440 

445 

450 

455 


MAZEPPA. 


107 


And,  starting  to  each  accent,  sprang 
As  from  a sudden  trumpet’s  clang  : 

Meantime  my  cords  were  wet  with  gore,  m 

Which,  oozing  through  my  limbs,  ran  o’er ; 

And  in  my  tongue  the  thirst  became 
A something  fierier  far  than  flame. 

XII 

“We  neared  the  wild  wood  — ’twas  so  wide, 

I saw  no  bounds  on  either  side  ; 466 

’Twas  studded  with  old  sturdy  trees, 

That  bent  not  to  the  roughest  breeze 
Which  howls  down  from  Siberia’s  waste, 

And  strips  the  forest  in  its  haste,  — 

But  these  were  few  and  far  between,  m 

Set  thick  with  shrubs  more  young  and  green, 
Luxuriant  with  their  annual  leaves, 

Ere  strown  by  those  autumnal  eves 
That  nip  the  forest’s  foliage  dead, 

Discolored  with  a lifeless  red,  475 

Which  stands  thereon  like  stiffened  gore 
Upon  the  slain  when  battle’s  o’er, 

And  some  long  winter’s  night  hath  shed 
Its  frost  o’er  every  tombless  head, 

So  cold  and  stark  the  raven’s  beak  480 

May  peck  unpierced  each  frozen  cheek : 

’Twas  a wild  waste  of  underwood, 

And  here  and  there  a chestnut  stood, 

The  strong  oak,  and  the  hardy  pine ; 


108 


LORD  BYRON. 


But  far  apart  — and  well  it  were, 

Or  else  a different  lot  were  mine  — 

The  boughs  gave  way,  and  did  not  tear 
My  limbs ; and  I found  strength  to  bear 
My  wounds,  already  scarred  with  cold  — 
My  bonds  forbade  to  loose  my  hold. 

We  rustled  through  the  leaves  like  wind, 
Left  shrubs,  and  trees,  and  wolves  behind  ; 
By  night  I heard  them  on  the  track, 

Their  troop  came  hard  upon  our  back, 

With  their  long  gallop,  which  can  tire 
The  hound’s  deep  hate,  and  hunter’s  fire  : 
Where’er  we  flew  they  followed  on, 

Nor  left  us  with  the  morning  sun ; 

Behind  I saw  them,  scarce  a rood, 

At  day-break  winding  through  the  wood, 
And  through  the  night  had  heard  their  feet 
Their  stealing,  rustling  step  repeat. 

Oh ! how  I wished  for  spear  or  sword, 

At  least  to  die  amidst  the  horde, 

And  perish  — if  it  must  be  so  — 

At  bay,  destroying  many  a foe ! 

When  first  my  courser’s  race  begun, 

I wished  the  goal  already  won ; 

But  now  I doubted  strength  and  speed. 
Vain  doubt ! his  swift  and  savage  breed 
Had  nerved  him  like  the  mountain-roe  ; 

Nor  faster  falls  the  blinding  snow 
Which  whelms  the  peasant  near  the  door 


485 

490 

495 

500 

505 

510 


MAZEPPA. 


109 


Whose  threshold  he  shall  cross  no  more, 
Bewildered  with  the  dazzling  blast, 

Than  through  the  forest-paths  he  past  — 
Untired,  untamed,  and  worse  than  wild ; 

All  furious  as  a favored  child 
Balked  of  its  wish ; or  fiercer  still  — 

A woman  piqued  — who  has  her  will. 

XIII 

“ The  wood  was  past ; ’twas  more  than  noon, 
But  chill  the  air,  although  in  June ; 

Or  it  might  be  my  veins  ran  cold  — 
Prolonged  endurance  tames  the  bold ; 

And  I was  then  not  what  I seem, 

But  headlong  as  a wintry  stream, 

And  wore  my  feelings  out  before 
I well  could  count  their  causes  o’er  : 

And  what  with  fury,  fear,  and  wrath, 

The  tortures  which  beset  my  path, 

Cold,  hunger,  sorrow,  shame,  distress, 

Thus  bound  in  nature’s  nakedness ; 

Sprung  from  a race  whose  rising  blood 
When  stirred  beyond  its  calmer  mood, 

And  trodden  hard  upon,  is  like 
The  rattle-snake’s,  in  act  to  strike, 

What  marvel  if  this  worn-out  trunk 
Beneath  its  woes  a moment  sunk  ? 

The  earth  gave  way,  the  skies  rolled  round, 
I seemed  to  sink  upon  the  ground ; 


515 

520 

525 

530 

535 


540 


110 


LORD  BYRON. 


But  erred,  for  I was  fastly  bound. 

My  heart  turned  sick,  my  brain  grew  sore, 
And  throbbed  awhile,  then  beat  no  more : 
The  skies  spun  like  a mighty  wheel ; 

I saw  the  trees  like  drunkards  reel, 

And  a slight  flash  sprang  o’er  my  eyes, 
Which  saw  no  farther.  He  who  dies 
Can  die  no  more  than  then  I died, 
O’ertortured  by  that  ghastly  ride. 

I felt  the  blackness  come  and  go, 

And  strove  to  wake;  but  could  not  make 
My  senses  climb  up  from  below : 

I felt  as  on  a plank  at  sea, 

When  all  the  waves  that  dash  o’er  thee, 

At  the  same  time  upheave  and  whelm, 

And  hurl  thee  towards  a desert  realm. 

My  undulating  life  was  as 
The  fancied  lights  that  flitting  pass 
Our  shut  eyes  in  deep  midnight,  when 
Fever  begins  upon  the  brain; 

But  soon  it  passed,,  with  little  pain, 

But  a confusion  worse  than  such : 

I own  that  I should  deem  it  much, 
Dying,  to  feel  the  same  again  ; 

And  yet  I do  suppose  we  must 
Feel  far  more  ere  we  turn  to  dust : 

Ho  matter ; I have  bared  my  brow 
Full  in  Death’s  face  — before  — and  now. 


546 

550 

555 

560 

565 


MAZEPPA. 


Ill 


XIV 

“ My  thoughts  came  back ; where  was  I ? Cold, 

And  numb,  and  giddy  : pulse  by  pulse  570 

Life  reassumed  its  lingering  hold, 

And  throb  by  throb,  — till  grown  a pang 
Which  for  a moment  would  convulse, 

My  blood  reflowed,  though  thick  and  chill ; 

My  ear  with  uncouth  noises  rang,  575 

My  heart  began  once  more  to  thrill ; 

My  sight  returned,  though  dim ; alas  ! 

And  thickened,  as  it  were,  with  glass. 

Methought  the  dash  of  waves  was  nigh ; 

There  was  a gleam  too  of  the  sky,  680 

Studded  with  stars  ; — it  is  no  dream  ; 

The  wild  horse  swims  the  wilder  stream ! 

The  bright  broad  river’s  gushing  tide 
Sweeps,  winding  onward,  far  and  wide, 

And  we  are  half-way,  struggling  o’er  585 

To  yon  unknown  and  silent  shore. 

The  waters  broke  my  hollow  trance, 

And  with  a temporary  strength 
My  stiffened  limbs  were  rebaptized. 

My  courser’s  broad  breast  proudly  braves,  590 

And  dashes  off  the  ascending  waves, 

And  onward  we  advance  ! 

We  reach  the  slippery  shore  at  length, 

A haven  I but  little  prized, 

For  all  behind  was  dark  and  drear 
And  all  before  was  night  and  fear. 


695 


112 


LORD  BYRON . 


How  many  hours  of  night  or  day 
In  those  suspended  pangs  I lay, 

I could  not  tell ; I scarcely  knew 
If  this  were  human  breath  I drew. 

xv 

" With  glossy  skin,  and  dripping  mane, 

And  reeling  limbs,  and  reeking  flank, 
The  wild  steed’s  sinewy  nerves  still  strain 
Up  the  repelling  bank. 

We  gain  the  top  : a boundless  plain 
Spreads  through  the  shadow  of  the  night, 
And  onward,  onward,  onward,  seems, 
Like  precipices  in  our  dreams, 

To  stretch  beyond  the  sight; 

And  here  and  there  a speck  of  white, 

Or  scattered  spot  of  dusky  green, 

In  masses  broke  into  the  light, 

As  rose  the  moon  upon  my  right : 

But  nought  distinctly  seen 
In  the  dim  waste  would  indicate 
The  omen  of  a cottage  gate  ; 

Ho  twinkling  taper  from  afar 
Stood  like  a hospitable  star  ; 

Hot  even  an  ignis-fatuus  rose 
To  make  him  merry  with  my  woes : 

That  very  cheat  had  cheered  me  then ! 
Although  detected,  welcome  still, 
Reminding  me  through  every  ill, 

Of  the  abodes  of  men. 


600 

605 

610 

615 

620 


MAZEPPA. 


113 


XVI 

“ Onward  we  went  — but  slack  and  slow  ; 

His  savage  force  at  length  o’erspent, 

The  drooping  courser,  faint  and  low, 

All  feebly  foaming  went. 

A sickly  infant  had  had  power 
To  guide  him  forward  in  that  hour ; 

But,  useless  all  to  me, 

His  new-born  tameness  nought  availed  — 
My  limbs  were  bound ; my  force  had  failed, 
Perchance,  had  they  been  free. 

With  feeble  effort  still  I tried 
To  rend  the  bonds  so  starkly  tied, 

But  still  it  was  in  vain ; 

My  limbs  were  only  wrung  the  more, 

And  soon  the  idle  strife  gave  o’er, 

Which  but  prolonged  their  pain. 

The  dizzy  race  seemed  almost  done, 
Although  no  goal  was  nearly  won  : 

Some  streaks  announced  the  coming  sun  — 
How  slow,  alas ! he  came  ! 

Methought  that  mist  of  dawning  gray 
Would  never  dapple  into  day ; 

How  heavily  it  rolled  away ! 

Before  the  eastern  flame 
Rose  crimson,  and  deposed  the  stars, 

And  called  the  radiance  from  their  cars, 
And  filled  the  earth,  from  his  deep  throne, 
With  lonely  lustre,  all  his  own. 


625 

630 

635 

640 

645 

650 


114 


LORD  BYRON . 


XVII 

“ Up  rose  the  sun  ; the  mists  were  curled 
Back  from  the  solitary  world 
Which  lay  around,  behind,  before. 

What  booted  it  to  traverse  o’er 
Plain,  forest,  river  ? Man  nor  brute, 
Nor  dint  of  hoof,  nor  print  of  foot, 

Lay  in  the  wild  luxuriant  soil ; 

No  sign  of  travel,  none  of  toil ; 

The  very  air  was  mute ; 

And  not  an  insect’s  shrill  small  horn, 
Nor  matin  bird’s  new  voice  was  borne 
From  herb  nor  thicket.  Many  a werst, 
Panting  as  if  his  heart  would  burst, 

The  weary  brute  still  staggered  on ; 
And  still  we  were  — or  seemed  — alone. 
At  length,  while  reeling  on  our  way, 
Methought  I heard  a courser  neigh, 
From  out  yon  tuft  of  blackening  firs. 

Is  it  the  wind  those  branches  stirs  ? 

No,  no ! from  out  the  forest  prance 
A trampling  troop ; I see  them  come  ! 
In  one  vast  squadron  they  advance ! 

I strove  to  cry  — , my  lips  were  dumb. 
The  steeds  rush  on  in  plunging  pride ; 
But  where  are  they  the  reins  to  guide  ? 
A thousand  horse,  and  none  to  ride ! 
With  flowing  tail,  and  flying  mane, 
Wide  nostrils  never  stretched  by  pain, 


655 

660 

665 

670 

675 

680 


MAZEPPA. 


Mouths  bloodless  to  the  bit  or  rein, 

And  feet  that  iron  never  shod, 

And  flanks  unscarred  by  spur  or  rod, 

A thousand  horse,  the  wild,  the  free, 

Like  waves  that  follow  o’er  the  sea, 

Came  thickly  thundering  on, 

As  if  our  faint  approach  to  meet. 

The  sight  re-nerved  my  courser’s  feet, 

A moment  staggering,  feebly  fleet, 

A moment,  with  a faint  low  neigh, 

He  answered,  and  then  fell. 

With  gasps  and  glazing  eyes  he  lay, 

And  reeking  limbs  immovable, 

His  first  and  last  career  is  done. 

On  came  the  troop  — they  saw  him  stoop, 
They  saw  me  strangely  bound  along 
His  back  with  many  a bloody  thong : 
They  stop,  they  start,  they  snuff  the  air, 
Gallop  a moment  here  and  there, 

Approach,  retire,  wheel  round  and  round, 
Then  plunging  back  with  sudden  bound, 
Headed  by  one  black  mighty  steed, 

Who  seemed  the  patriarch  of  his  breed, 
Without  a single  speck  or  hair 
Of  white  upon  his  shaggy  hide ; 

They  snort,  they  foam,  neigh,  swerve  aside, 
And  backward  to  the  forest  fly, 

By  instinct,  from  a human  eye. 

They  left  me  there  to  my  despair, 


LORD  BYRON. 


Linked  to  the  dead  and  stiffening  wretch, 
Whose  lifeless  limbs  beneath  me  stretch, 
Believed  from  that  unwonted  weight, 
From  whence  I could  not  extricate 
Nor  him  nor  me  — and  there  we  lay, 

The  dying  on  the  dead ! 

I little  deemed  another  day 

Would  see  my  houseless,  helpless  head. 

“ And  there  from  morn  till  twilight  bound, 
I felt  the  heavy  hours  toil  round, 

With  just  enough  of  life  to  see 
My  last  of  suns  go  down  on  me, 

In  hopeless  certainty  of  mind, 

That  makes  us  feel  at  length  resigned 
To  that  which  our  foreboding  years 
Presents  the  worst  and  last  of  fears  : 
Inevitable  — even  a boon, 

Nor  more  unkind  for  coming  soon, 

Yet  shunned  and  dreaded  with  such  care, 
As  if  it  only  were  a snare 
That  prudence  might  escape  : 

At  times  both  wished  for  and  implored, 
At  times  sought  with  self-pointed  sword, 
Yet  still  a dark  and  hideous  close 
To  even  intolerable  woes, 

And  welcomed  in  no  shape. 

And,  strange  to  say,  the  sons  of  pleasure, 
They  who  have  revelled  beyond  measure 


MAZEPPA. 


117 


In  beauty,  wassail,  wine,  and  treasure, 

Die  calm,  or  calmer,  oft  than  he 
Whose  heritage  was  misery. 

For  he  who  hath  in  turn  run  through 
All  that  was  beautiful  and  new, 

Hath  nought  to  hope,  and  nought  to  leave ; 
And,  save  the  future,  — which  is  viewed 
Hot  quite  as  men  are  based  or  good, 

But  as  their  nerves  may  be  endued, — 

With  nought  perhaps  to  grieve  : 

The  wretch  still  hopes  his  woes  must  end, 
And  Death,  whom  he  should  deem  his  friend, 
Appears,  to  his  distempered  eyes, 

Arrived  to  rob  him  of  his  prize, 

The  tree  of  his  new  Paradise. 

To-morrow  would  have  given  him  all, 

Repaid  his  pangs,  repaired  his  fall ; 
To-morrow  would  have  been  the  first 
Of  days  no  more  deplored  or  curst, 

But  bright,  and  long,  and  beckoning  years, 
Seen  dazzling  through  the  mist  of  tears, 
Guerdon  of  many  a painful  hour  ; 

To-morrow  would  have  given  him  power 
To  rule,  to  shine,  to  smite,  to  save  — 

And  must  it  dawn  upon  his  grave  ? 

XVIII 

“ The  sun  was  sinking  — still  I lay 

Chained  to  the  chill  and  stiffening  steed, 


740 

745 

750 

755 

760 


118 


LORD  BYRON. 


I thought  to  mingle  there  our  clay ; 

And  my  dim  eyes  of  death  had  need, 

No  hope  arose  of  being  freed. 

I cast  my  last  looks  up  the  sky, 

And  there  between  me  and  the  sun 
I saw  the  expecting  raven  fly, 

Who  scarce  would  wait  till  both  should  die, 
Ere  his  repast  begun  ; 

He  flew,  and  perched,  then  flew  once  more, 
And  each  time  nearer  than  before  ; 

I saw  his  wing  through  twilight  flit, 

And  once  so  near  me  he  alit 

I could  have  smote,  but  lacked  the  strength ; 
But  the  slight  motion  of  my  hand, 

And  feeble  scratching  of  the  sand, 

The  exerted  throat’s  faint  struggling  noise, 
Which  scarcely  could  be  called  a voice, 
Together  scared  him  off  at  length. 

I know  no  more  — my  latest  dream 
Is  something  of  a lovely  star 
Which  fixed  my  dull  eyes  from  afar, 

And  went  and  came  with  wandering  beam. 

And  of  the  cold,  dull,  swimming,  dense 
Sensation  of  recurring  sense, 

And  then  subsiding  back  to  death, 

And  then  again  a little  breath, 

A little  thrill,  a short  suspense, 

An  icy  sickness  curdling  o’er 
My  heart,  and  sparks  that  crossed  my  brain  — 


765 

770 

775 

780 

785 

790 


MAZEPPA. 


119 


A gasp,  a throb,  a start  of  pain, 

A sigh,  and  nothing  more.  795 

XIX 

“ I woke  — Where  was  I ? — Do  I see 
A human  face  look  down  on  me  ? 

And  doth  a roof  above  me  close  ? 

Do  these  limbs  on  a couch  repose  ? 

Is  this  a chamber  where  I lie  ? 800 

And  is  it  mortal  yon  bright  eye, 

That  watches  me  with  gentle  glance  ? 

I closed  my  own  again  once  more, 

As  doubtful  that  the  former  trance 

Could  not  as  yet  be  o’er.  805 

A slender  girl,  long-haired,  and  tall, 

Sate  watching  by  the  cottage  wall. 

The  sparkle  of  her  eye  I caught, 

Even  with  my  first  return  of  thought ; 

For  ever  and  anon  she  threw  810 

A prying,  pitying  glance  on  me, 

With  her  black  eyes  so  wild  and  free. 

I gazed,  and  gazed,  until  I knew 
hT o vision  it  could  be,  — 

But  that  I lived,  and  was  released  815 

From  adding  to  the  vulture’s  feast. 

And  when  the  Cossack  maid  beheld 
My  heavy  eyes  at  length  unsealed, 

She  smiled — and  I essayed  to  speak, 

But  failed  — and  she  approached,  and  made  820 


120 


LORD  BYRON. 


With  lip  and  finger  signs  that  said, 

I must  not  strive  as  yet  to  break 
The  silence,  till  my  strength  should  be 
Enough  to  leave  my  accents  free ; 

And  then  her  hand  on  mine  she  laid,  825 

And  smoothed  the  pillow  for  my  head, 

And  stole  along  on  tiptoe  tread, 

And  gently  oped  the  door,  and  spake 
In  whispers  — ne’er  was  voice  so  sweet ! 

Even  music  followed  her  light  feet.  830 

But  those  she  called  were  not  awake, 

And  she  went  forth  ; but,  ere  she  passed, 

Another  look  on  me  she  cast, 

Another  sign  she  made,  to  say, 

That  I had  naught  to  fear,  that  all  836 

Were  near,  at  my  command  or  call, 

And  she  would  not  delay 
Her  due  return  : — while  she  was  gone, 

Methought  I felt  too  much  alone. 

xx 

“ She  came  with  mother  and  with  sire  — 840 

What  need  of  more  ? — I will  not  tire 
With  long  recital  of  the  rest, 

Since  I became  the  Cossack’s  guest. 

They  found  me  senseless  on  the  plain, 

They  bore  me  to  the  nearest  hut,  845 

They  brought  me  into  life  again, 

Me  — one  day  o’er  their  realm  to  reign ! 


MAZEPPA. 


121 


Thus  the  vain  fool  who  strove  to  glut 
His  rage,  refining  on  my  pain, 

Sent  me  forth  to  the  wilderness, 

Bound,  naked,  bleeding,  and  alone, 

To  pass  the  desert  to  a throne,  — 

What  mortal  his  own  doom  may  guess  ? 
Let  none  despond,  let  none  despair ! 
To-morrow  the  Borysthenes 
May  see  our  coursers  graze  at  ease 
Upon  his  Turkish  bank,  — and  never 
Had  I such  welcome  for  a river 
As  I shall  yield  when  safely  there. 
Comrades,  good  night ! ” — the  hetman  threw 
His  length  beneath  the  oak-tree  shade, 
With  leafy  couch  already  made, 

A bed  nor  comfortless  nor  new 
To  him,  who  took  his  rest  whene’er 
The  hour  arrived,  no  matter  where : 

His  eyes  the  hastening  slumbers  steep. 

And  if  ye  marvel  Charles  forgot 
To  thank  his  tale,  he  wondered  not,  — 

The  king  had  been  an  hour  asleep. 


850 

855 

860 

865 


. 


NOTES. 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON. 

Lines  1-4.  What  was  the  cause  of  Bonnivard’s  gray  hair  ? Ex- 
plain the  use  of  the  singular  verb  in  line  1,  and  that  of  the  plural  in 
line  4. 

6.  Vile.  What  is  its  etymology  ? What  figure  in  this  line  ? 
What  is  its  force  ? 

7.  Spoil.  Etymology? 

10.  Note  the  meaning  of  banned.  Cf.  Wilhelm  Tell , III.  iv. : — 

“ The  trees  are  banned.'* 

11.  This.  For  what  other  word  ? 

17.  What  change  occurs  in  the  metre  in  this  line?  How  does  it 
affect  the  style?  To  what  line  does  this  change  extend  ? 

20.  Original  MS.,  “ Braving  rancour  — chains  — and  rage.” 

11-26.  How  do  the  statements  in  these  lines  compare  with  histor- 
ical facts?  How  much  of  what  is  related  here  might  have  been 
suggested  by  the  story  of  Ugolino?  See  Introductory  Note. 

27.  What  metrical  change  in  this  line?  Cf.  line  29. 

28.  See  Introductory  Note  for  dungeon. 

30.  Light  is  admitted  through  narrow  apertures. 

32.  Crevice  and  the  cleft.  Note  the  alliteration.  Compare  the 
derivation  and  meaning  of  the  two  words.  Is  there  any  redundancy  ? 

34.  Creeping.  What  noun  does  it  modify  ? What  is  the  gram- 
matical construction  of  the  noun  ? 

35.  Marsh’s  meteor  lamp.  The  ignis  fatuus.  a flitting  light, 
sometimes  seen  at  night  over  marshes  and  in  churchyards,  supposed 
to  be  caused  by  the  decomposition  of  vegetable  or  animal  substances, 
or  by  inflammable  gases.  It  is  commonly  known  as  “ Jack  o’  Lan- 

123 


124 


LORD  BYRON . 


tern,”  “ Will  o’  the  Wisp,”  and  by  the  Welsh  it  is  called  “ Corpse- 
Lights.”  Cf.  Under  the  Old  Elm , Lowell:  — 

“ Wind-  wavered  corpse-lights,  daughters  of  the  fen.” 

38.  Cankering.  Explain  meaning.  Cf . 2 Tim.  ii.  17 : — 

“And  their  word  will  eat  as  doth  a canker.” 

Also,  — 

“ Your  gold  and  silver  is  cankered.”  — James  v 3. 

41.  This  new  day.  To  what  period  of  Bonnivard’s  life  does  this 
refer  ? 

45.  Score.  Note  the  original  signification.  Give  synonyms. 

53.  Our.  Substitute  a word  that  more  clearly  expresses  the 
meaning. 

57.  Pure  elements  of  earth.  What  were  they  ? 

65.  Grating  sound.  Grammatical  construction. 

66.  Yore.  Compare  origin  with  that  of  year. 

70-71.  Arrange  in  prose  order. 

72.  In  his  degree.  Explain. 

82.  A polar  day.  Grammatical  construction. 

82-84.  What  fact  is  here  alluded  to? 

85.  What  is  the  snow-clad  offspring  of  the  sun? 

86.  As.  State  the  comparison  introduced  by  this  word. 

87.  Is  this  line  included  in  the  comparison  ? 

69-91.  Classify  the  figures  of  speech  in  this  stanza. 

92.  As.  Complete  the  comparison. 

95.  Had.  For  what? 

94-97.  Paraphrase. 

98.  Spirit  withered.  Cf. : — 

“ The  life-withering  marches  of  the  locust.”  — De  Quincey. 

102.  Relics.  Has  this  word  its  usual  signification  here? 

105.  Gulf.  Give  a synonym  of  the  word  as  used  here. 

107-108.  Several  editions  read : — 

“ Lake  Leman  washes  Chillon’s  walls.” 

Lake  Geneva,  or  Lake  Leman  as  it  is  called  by  the  majority  of 
people  inhabiting  its  shores,  is  the  Lacus  Lemanus  of  the  Romans. 
It  is  about  forty-five  miles  in  length,  and  in  width  varies  from  one 
and  a half  to  nine  miles.  The  water  is  a very  deep  blue,  and  attains 
the  depth  oH  ten  hundred  and  fifty-six  feet  toward  the  eastern  extrem- 


NOTES . 


125 


ity,  not  far  from  Chillon,  being  eight  hundred  feet  deep  near  the 
castle  walls. 

109.  Massy.  Where  used  before  in  the  poem? 

111.  Snow-white.  The  walls,  once  white,  are  now  almost  brown. 

112.  Enthralls.  Define  accurately.  What  is  its  subject?  Re- 
construct the  line. 

115.  In  reality  the  water  never  rises  to  within  four  or  five  feet  of 
the  dungeon  floor. 

121.  Wanton.  Verb  or  adjective  ? 

124-125.  See  . . . death.  What  figure  in  this  sentence  ? 

129.  Coarse  and  rude.  Is  there  a redundancy? 

131.  For  the  like.  Explain. 

141.  Had.  Cf.  line  95. 

142.  Had.  Note  difference  of  meaning  in  this  and  the  above  line. 
144.  MS.,  “ But  why  withhold  the  blow  — he  died.” 

148.  MS.,  “ To  break  or  bite  my  bonds  in  twain.” 

152-157.  Cf.  Tennyson’s  In  Memoriam , XVIII. 

155.  Wrought.  Etymology? 

157.  Paraphrase  this  passage  from  line  145. 

163.  What  quality  of  style  predominates  in  these  lines,  beginning 
with  line  144  ? 

164.  What  words  are  in  apposition  with  he  in  this  and  succeeding 
lines? 

166.  Mother’s  image.  Grammatical  construction 
168.  Thought.  What  figure  of  speech? 

173.  Explain. 

175.  Cf.  line  98.  Note  the  alliteration. 

176-185.  Classify  the  figures. 

186.  Faded.  Cf.  flower,  line  164 ; and  wither’d,  line  175. 
187-188.  Note  the  alliteration.  What  is  its  effect? 

189.  How  many  were  left?  Note  the  delicacy  of  this  use  of  those. 

194.  Supply  another  word  for  transparent. 

195.  What  figure? 

215-217.  Explain. 

217.  Failing  race.  Cf.  Victor  Hugo’s  Ruy  Bias : — 

“ Famille  qui  s’en  va”  (a  failing  house). 

218.  “The  gentle  decay  and  gradual  extinction  of  the  youngest 
life  is  the  most  beautiful  passage  in  the  poem.”  — Jeffrey. 


126 


LORD  BYRON. 


How  much  of  the  beauty  of  this  passage  is  due  to  the  thought? 
How  much  to  the  style?  In  what  does  the  beauty  of  the  style  con- 
sist ? Characterize  briefly  the  two  brothers. 

230.  Selfish  death.  Paraphrase. 

233.  Does  this  have  reference  to  the  period  following  his  brother’s 
death  ? 

235-236.  Is  this  paralysis  of  the  senses  a natural  result  of  intensity 
of  grief  ? 

249.  Does  not  stagnant,  in  sense,  belong  to  sea? 

250.  What  is  the  propriety  of  the  several  adjectives  in  this  line? 

231-250.  What  makes  this  passage  so  graphic? 

252,  et  seq.  Compare  with  these  lines  the  effect  of  spring  upon 
Tennyson’s  grief:  — 

“ And  in  thy  breast 
Spring  wakens  too  : and  my  regret 
Becomes  an  April  violet, 

And  buds  and  blossoms  like  the  rest.” 

263.  Glimmer.  Etymology? 

271-272.  Like  . . . likeness.  Are  these  words  synonymous  ? 

282.  What  figure  in  this  line? 

285.  Heaven  forgive  that  thought.  Why? 

284,  295,  et  seq.  Which  of  the  two  similes  is  more  forcible?  State 
your  reason. 

303.  Inured.  Etymology  ? 

311.  In  what  respect  does  this  line  not  conform  to  the  English  of 
to-day  ? 

327.  Does  had  have  the  same  meaning  here  as  in  line  141  ? 

328.  Is  curious  used  here  in  its  usual  sense? 

334.  The  Dent  du  Midi,  which  is  covered  with  perpetual  snow,  can 
be  seen  from  the  dungeon. 

336.  The  color  of  the  Rhone  as  it  enters  the  lake  is  aptly  described 
by  Schiller’s  term,  “ glacier  milk.”  It  is,  however,  a very  deep  blue 
as  it  leaves  the  lake. 

337.  There  is  a small  torrent  just  south  of  the  castle  which  descends 
very  precipitously.  It  is  now  utilized  for  water-power. 

339.  White- wall’d  distant  town.  Villeneuve,  an  old  Roman 
town,  about  a mile  south  of  Chillon.  The  old  gate  is  still  standing. 

341-346.  “ Between  the  entrances  of  the  Rhone  and  Villeneuve, 

not  far  from  Chillon,  is  a very  small  island,  the  only  one  I could  per-. 


NOTES. 


127 


ceive  in  my  voyage  round  and  over  the  lake,  within  its  circumference. 
It  contains  a few  small  trees  (I  think  not  above  three),  and  from  the 
singular  and  diminutive  size  has  a peculiar  effect  on  the  view.”  — 
Byron. 

These  three  trees  are  still  standing,  or  have  been  replaced,  and  are 
easily  discernible  from  the  castle. 

332-355.  What  is  the  effect  of  this  introduction  of  nature  into  the 
poem  ? 

365,  366.  How  do  these  lines  compare  with  actual  facts? 

374.  Cf.  In  Memoriam,  II.:  — 

“ O sorrow,  wilt  thou  live  with  me, 

No  casual  mistress,  but  a wife. 

My  bosom  friend  and  half  of  life : 

As  I confess  it  needs  must  be?” 

382.  Is  sullen  used  here  in  its  usual  sense?  Cf.  the  following:  — 

“ No  cheerful  breeze  this  sullen  region  knows.” — Pope. 

390.  Communion.  Etymology? 

391.  Even  I.  Does  the  rhythmic  accent  coincide  with  the  natural 
accent?  Is  the  thought  obscured  by  this  order? 

QUESTIONS  ON  CHILLON. 

Stanza  I. 

1 . What  is  the  effect  of  the  first  line  of  the  poem  upon  our  interest? 

2.  What  sort  of  story  are  we  led  to  expect  from  the  facts  given 
in  the  first  lines? 

3.  What  would  have  been  the  difference  in  force,  had  the  story 
been  written  in  the  third  person? 

4.  By  what  suggestions  does  the  author  manage  to  enlist  our 
sympathy  as  well  as  our  interest? 

5.  What  period  in  history  is  naturally  suggested  by  the  religious 
nature  of  the  persecution? 

6.  What  touches  in  this  first  stanza  make  the  story  seem  realistic? 

7.  What  things  are  distinctly  romantic? 

8.  What  is  the  purpose  of  the  author  in  making  the  Prisoner 
speak  of  his  father’s  faith  instead  of  his  own? 

9.  Why  have  the  members  of  the  speaker’s  family  die  by  such 
various  deaths? 


128 


LORD  BYRON. 


10.  What  sort  of  appearance  has  the  Prisoner,  judging  from  the 
hints  given  in  the  first  stanza  — how  old?  how  tall?  how  feeble? 

11.  As  we  finish  stanza  one,  what  are  we  anxious  to  hear  about 
next?  What  do  we  expect? 

Stanza  II.,  line  27. 

12.  How  much  does  the  change  in  metre  in  line  27  help  to  em- 
phasize the  change  of  subject? 

13.  What  historical  period  comes  into  our  minds  with  the  de- 
scription of  the  castle? 

14.  How  far  are  the  impressions  given  by  the  author  about  time 
and  place  in  accordance  with  facts? 

15.  What  elements  in  this  stanza  are  romantic? 

16.  How  do  these  romantic  touches  affect  our  pleasure  in  the 
poem?  Give  reasons  for  answer. 

17.  By  what  means  does  the  author  impress  us  with  the  idea 
of  the  gloom  in  the  dungeon? 

18.  With  what  statement  does  the  speaker  definitely  connect  his 
sufferings  with  the  castle? 

19.  Are  we  interested  in  the  castle  more  for  its  own  sake  before 
this  connection  is  made? 

20.  Does  this  greatly  change  the  cause  of  our  interest? 

21.  What  new  information  do  we  get  in  this  stanza  about  the 
personal  appearance  of  the  speaker? 

22.  To  what  are  we  led  to  look  forward? 

Stanza  III.,  line  48. 

23.  Did  Byron  improve  the  story  or  not,  by  giving  the  Prisoner 
brothers  to  share  his  captivity? 

24.  What  feeling  is  aroused  in  the  first  five  lines?  Is  the  picture 
pathetic  or  simply  gloomy?  Reasons  for  answer. 

25.  What  was  the  nature  of  the  affection  of  the  three  brothers 
for  each  other? 

26.  What  effect  has  this  affection  upon  our  attitude  toward  them? 

27.  What  romantic  elements  in  this  stanza? 

28.  How  much  actual  story  does  the  author  give? 

29.  What  things  does  he  make  you  imagine  by  mentioning  effects 
produced  upon  the  three? 

30.  What  effect  does  the  telling  of  his  story  seem  to  have  upon 
the  Prisoner? 


NOTES. 


129 


Stanza  IV.,  line  69. 

31.  What  in  the  Prisoner's  feeling  for  his  two  brothers  conies 
from  the  fact  that  he  is  the  eldest? 

32.  How  does  the  mention  of  the  mother  in  connection  with 
the  youngest  affect  our  feeling  for  him? 

33.  What  does  this  touch  add  to  the  poem? 

34.  What  is  your  conception  of  the  appearance,  age,  etc.,  of  this 
youngest  brother? 

35.  Mention  some  traits  of  his  character. 

36.  What  propriety  is  there  in  the  introduction  of  the  nature 
touches  in  this  stanza? 

Stanza  V.,  line  93. 

37.  What  quality  of  mind  was  possessed  by  the  younger  brothers 
in  common? 

38.  What  sort  of  appeal  does  this  quality  in  the  two  brothers 
make  upon  our  feelings? 

39.  Which  of  these  two  brothers  seems  to  you  to  have  the  stronger 
character?  Why? 

40.  Which  do  you  think  would  endure  confinement  longer?  Why? 

41.  What  reference  in  line  102  makes  the  picture  more  realistic, 
more  significant? 

42.  Amplify  the  contrast  between  life  in  the  dungeon  and  that 
upon  the  hills. 

43.  Draw  a contrast  between  the  two  brothers. 

Stanza  VI.,  line  107. 

44.  Why  does  the  author  here  break  off  from  his  story  of  the 
two  brothers? 

45.  Can  you  see  any  effect  that  it  has  upon  the  story  of  their 
suffering?  If  so,  what? 

46.  In  what  way  has  the  author  departed  from  the  facts  in  this 
stanza? 

47.  Has  he  made  the  account  more  interesting  by  doing  so? 
Reason  for  answer. 

Stanza  VII.,  line  126. 

48.  Wliy  did  the  “nearer  brother"  loath  and  put  away  his  food? 

49.  What  quality  of  character  is  shown  in  his  want  of  care  about 
his  food? 

50.  How  does  the  author  manage  to  keep  always  before  us  the 


130 


LORD  BYRON. 


contrast  between  the  prison  life  of  the  brothers  and  their  previous 
freedom? 

51.  What  additional  hints  do  we  get  in  this  stanza  about  the 
Prisoner  — his  thoughts,  feelings,  and  character  in  general? 

52.  What  opinions  or  feelings  of  his  own  does  the  author  express 
in  this  stanza? 

53.  What  part  of  this  stanza  is  pathetic? 

Stanza  VIII.,  line  164. 

54.  Why  is  the  decline  of  this  “ favorite”  brother  more  pathetic 
than  that  of  the  other? 

55.  Do  you  agree  with  the  remarks  of  Jeffry,  quoted  in  the  notes, 
that  this  is  the  most  beautiful  passage  in  the  poem?  Give  reasons 
for  answer. 

56.  What  does  the  Prisoner's  anxiety  for  this  brother  suggest 
about  his  own  character? 

57.  What  do  you  think  to  be  the  cause  of  this  decline  in  the 
youngest  brother? 

58.  What  are  the  dominant  traits  of  character  suggested  here  of 
this  brother? 

59.  For  which  is  our  sympathy  deepest  through  the  first  half  of 
this  stanza?  In  the  second  half? 

60.  How  does  the  author  shift  our  sympathy? 

61.  Why  does  he  do  so  at  this  point? 

Stanza  IX.,  line  231. 

62.  How  does  the  death  of  the  youngest  brother  affect  the  Pris- 
oner? Why? 

63.  WTiat  enabled  the  Prisoner  to  survive  the  same  conditions 
that  killed  the  other? 

64.  How  far  does  this  stanza  help  to  explain  the  process  by  which 
the  Prisoner  became  what  we  find  him  at  the  beginning  of  the  poem? 

65.  Is  the  Prisoner's  condition  in  any  way  similar  to  that  of  Dr. 
Mannette  in  The  Tale  of  Two  Cities? 

Stanza  X.,  line  251. 

66.  Draw  a contrast  between  the  scene  within  the  dungeon  and 
that  which  would  naturally  be  suggested  by  the  “ carol  of  a bird." 

67.  What  is  the  effect  upon  the  Prisoner's  sorrow? 

68.  How  far  does  it  suggest  to  the  reader  a turn  in  the  affairs 
of  the  Prisoner? 


NOTES. 


131 


69.  Discuss  the  general  effect  upon  the  poem  of  this  introduction 
of  nature. 

70.  What  qualities  of  character  are  suggested  of  the  Prisoner 
in  this  stanza? 

Stanza  XL,  line  300. 

71.  Compare  this  stanza  and  the  preceding  with  respect  to  narra- 
tive and  descriptive  elements. 

72.  In  what  ways  is  the  Prisoner's  condition  more  hopeful? 

Stanza  XII.,  line  318. 

73.  Show  how  the  occupations  of  the  Prisoner  here  are  a nearer  ap- 
proach toward  liberty. 

74.  Why  does  the  Prisoner  turn  first  to  the  mountains? 

75.  Does  this  stanza  imply  that  he  is  resigned  to  spend  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life  in  prison? 

Stanza  XIII. 

76.  Why  does  the  author  reserve  these  descriptions  of  nature 
till  the  last?  Observe  how  the  interest  of  the  Prisoner  grows  in 
external  nature  until  he  is  at  last  freed. 

77.  What  effect  upon  his  desire  for  liberty  had  the  Prisoner's 
-return  from  the  window  slit? 

78.  Show  by  wdiat  means  the  kindly  nature  of  the  Prisoner  is 
emphasized  in  this  last  stanza. 

SPAIN. 

Line  2.  Palagio,  or  Pelayo,  a scion  of  the  royal  Yisi-Gothic  line, 
was  the  first  Christian  king  in  Spain  after  the  invasion  of  the  Moors. 
At  the  approach  of  the  Moslems  he  retreated  to  the  fastnesses  of 
the  Asturias,  and  there  maintained  himself  against  them  in  several 
pitched  battles.  Christians  of  surrounding  districts  flocked  to  his 
standard,  and  he  was  acknowledged  sovereign.  He  died  in  737. 
From  him  is  traced  the  genealogy  of  the  royal  family  of  Spain. 

3.  Cava’s  traitor-sire.  Count  Julian,  a lieutenant  of  the 
Gothic  army,  who,  in  revenge  for  the  outrage  done  his  daughter  by 
King  Rod  eric,  formed  an  alliance  with  the  Moors  to  invade  Spain. 
Cava,  or  Caba,  is  called  the  Helen  of  Spain. 

8.  Red  gleamed  the  cross.  A red  cross  was  the  emblem  of 
Christianity  during  the  Middle  Ages.  Pale  is  an  epithet  usually 
applied  to  the  crescent 


132 


LORD  BYRON. 


10.  The  early  popular  poetry  of  Spain  was  unequalled  in  Europe. 

13.  Date.  Duration  of  fame.  This  use  of  the  word  is  common 
in  Shakespeare. 

23.  This  line  refers  to  the  introduction  of  gunpowder  into  war- 
fare. 

27.  Andalusia’s  shore.  Andalusia  is  the  largest  and  richest 
province  of  Spain.  Here  the  Moors  founded  a splendid  monarchy, 
which  quickly  attained  a high  degree  of  civilization.  Learning,  art, 
chivalry,  industry,  and  commerce  flourished  here  very  early.  So 
important  did  the  province  become  that  its  name  was  applied  to  all 
of  Spain,  and  is  still  generally  so  used  by  the  poets. 

33.  Bale-fires.  Refers  here  to  the  flash  of  battle.  See  Diction- 
ary for  derivation  and  meaning  of  the  word. 

35.  Siroc.  The  sirocco  is  an  extremely  enervating  wind  from  the 
Libyan  deserts,  felt  along  the  south  of  Europe.  Refers  here  to  the 
fumes  of  powder. 

SOLITUDE. 

Line  1.  Flood  and  fell.  Note  this  common  form  of  alliteration. 
Derivation  and  meaning  of  fell. 

8.  This  is  not  solitude.  Cf.,  The  Ocean,  lines  1-4. 

18.  With  this  stanza  cf.  Bacon’s  Of  Friendship  : — 

“ For  a crowd  is  not  company,  and  faces  are  hut  a gallery  of  pic- 
tures, and  talk  is  but  a tinkling  cymbal,  where  there  is  no  love.” 

LEUCADIA. 

Line  1.  Byron  sailed  from  Malta  the  21st  of  September,  1809,  and 
landed  at  Previsa,  Sept.  29. 

The  barren  spot.  Ithaca,  the  smallest  but  one  of  the  Ionian 
Islands,  is  noted  as  the  home  of  Ulysses.  Its  surface  is  mountainous, 
and  hence  its  barren  appearance. 

2.  Penelope.  The  faithful  wife  of  Ulysses.  See  Classical  Dic- 
tionary. Byron  passed  Ithaca,  Sept.  24. 

3.  The  mount.  The  Leucadian  rock,  or  Lover’s  Leap,  where 
disappointed  lovers  ended  their  grief  by  jumping  into  the  sea. 

4.  The  Lesbian’s  grave.  It  has  been  claimed  by  some  author- 
ities that  Sappho,  the  great  Greek  poetess,  made  the  “Lover's  Leap  ” 
from  the  Leucadian  rock.  Sappho  was  born  at  Mytilene,  the  island 
of  Lesbos,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventh  century  b.c. 


NOTES . 


133 


5.  Dark  Sappho.  “ The  epithet  implies  profound,  mysterious 
feeling.”  — Tozer. 

14.  The  battle  of  Actium,  in  which  Augustus  Caesar  defeated 
Mark  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  took  place  in  31  b.c.  The  battle  of 
Lepanto  was  a naval  engagement,  fought  in  1571,  between  the  com- 
bined fleets  of  Spain,  Venice,  Genoa,  Malta,  and  the  Papal  States  on 
the  one  side,  and  the  entire  maritime  power  of  the  Turks  on  the 
other.  The  Christians  lost  three  thousand  killed,  while  the  loss  of 
the  Turks  was  over  thirty  thousand  killed  and  wounded.  In  the 
battle  of  Trafalgar,  Lord  Nelson,  the  greatest  of  English  admirals, 
fought  the  combined  fleets  of  France  and  Spain.  The  English  were 
victorious,  but  Nelson  was  slain. 

16.  Explain  the  reference  to  astrology  in  this  line. 

25.  Melancholy.  Explain  the  application  of  this  word. 

GREECE. 

Line  1.  Sad  relic.  Cf,  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  1.  102:  — 

“Those  relics  of  a home  so  dear.” 

7.  Thermopylae  is  the  famous  pass  leading  from  Locris  into 
Thessaly,  where  Leonidas  and  three  hundred  Spartans  tried  to  check 
the  Persian  invasion  in  480  b.c.  The  Spartans  were  betrayed  by 
one  of  their  number,  and  all  were  slain. 

9.  The  Eurotas,  one  of  the  rivers  to  which  the  Greeks  per- 
formed divine  rites,  rises  in  the  Arcadian  mountains,  and  flows  into 
the  Gulf  of  Laconia.  It  is  mentioned  here  because  the  city  of 
Sparta  is  situated  on  its  banks. 

10.  Phyle.  A fortress  commanding  a pass  of  the  same  name 
conducting  into  Attica  from  Bceotia. 

11.  Thrasybulus  was  an  Athenian  general  who  was  expelled 
from  Athens  by  the  Thirty  Tyrants.  With  the  aid  of  a Theban 
force,  he  took  Phyle,  and  from  that  place  began  operations  against 
the  Thirty,  whom  he  expelled.  In  403  b.c.  he  re-established  the 
democracy. 

15.  Carle.  Churl,  rustic,  countryman. 

17.  Turkish  hand.  To  what  historical  events  does  Byron  allude 
in  this  poem  ? 

19.  With  this  line  cf.  Isles  of  Greece : — 

“But  all  except  their  sun  is  set.” 

26.  What  does  solely  mean  here  ? 


184 


LORD  BYRON. 


31.  Why  are  the  French  and  Russians  called  Gauls  and  Musco- 
vites respectively? 

34.  Helots.  The  serfs  or  slaves  of  the  Spartans ; hence  the  latter, 
who  oppressed  them,  were  regarded  as  their  enemies.  How  may  the 
u shades  of  the  Helots  ” now  triumph  over  their  foe? 

37.  Allah.  Literally  the  “ Worthy-to-be-adored,”  the  Arabic 
name  for  God.  Giaour,  meaning  infidel  or  unfaithful,  was  applied 
by  the  Mahometans  to  all  who  did  not  believe  in  the  Prophet,  and 
especially  to  Christians.  Here  it  stands  for  the  Christians. 

38.  Othman’s  race.  Othman  was  the  founder  of  the  Turkish 
dynasty.  The  term  Ottoman  is  applied  to  people,  empire,  and 
monarch. 

39.  Serai.  The  Seraglio,  the  palace  of  the  Sultan,  which  ordi- 
nary mortals  cannot  enter. 

41.  Wahab  was  the  founder  of  the  sect  of  Wahabites,  whose 
purpose  it  was  to  restore  Islamism  to  the  literal  teachings  of  the 
Koran.  The  followers  of  Wahab  sacked  both  Mecca  and  Medina  in 
1803  and  1804. 

46.  Lacedaemon  is  another  name  for  Sparta.  Another  allusion 
to  the  three  hundred  Spartans. 

47.  For  Thebes  and  Epaminondas  see  Classical  Dictionary . 

57.  Thy  vales  . . . snow.  “On  many  of  the  mountains,  par- 
ticularly Liakura,  the  snow  never  is  entirely  melted  ; but  I never 
saw  it  lie  on  the  plains,  even  in  winter.”  — Byron. 

65.  Prostrate  brethren  of  the  cave.  “Of  Mount  Pentelicus, 
from  whence  the  marble  was  dug  that  constructed  the  public  edifices 
of  Athens.  The  modern  name  is  Mount  Mendeli.  An  immense  cave 
formed  by  the  quarries  still  remains,  and  will  till  the  end  of  time.” 
— Byron. 

66.  Tritonia’s  airy  shrine.  Tritona  is  a name  of  Minerva. 
There  are  the  ruins  of  a once  splendid  temple  of  the  goddess  on  the 
promontory  of  Sunium,  or  Cape  Colonna  as  it  was  long  called,  be- 
cause of  its  ruins.  Cf.  The  Isles  of  Greece  : — 

“ Place  me  on  Sunium’r  marbled  steep.” 

71.  Only  not.  All  but,  almost.  Cf.  Childe  Harold,  I.  vii.  3:  — 
“ So  old  it  seemed  only  not  to  fall.” 

75.  Thine  olive.  The  olive  was  given  to  Attica  by  Minerva. 


NOTES. 


135 


76.  Mount  Hymettus,  in  Attica  near  Athens,  has  always  been 
famous  for  its  honey. 

79.  Apollo.  See  Classical  Dictionary . 

90.  Athena’s  tower.  The  Parthenon.  Explain  the  thought  in 
this  line. 

LEAVING  ENGLAND  FOR  THE  LAST  TIME. 

Line  2.  These  are  the  opening  stanzas  of  Canto  III.  of  Childe 
Harold.  Byron  left  England  this  time  in  1816 ; hence  it  will  be  seen 
that  this  and  following  selections  from  Childe  Harold  were  written 
about  six  years  later  than  the  preceding.  Many  changes  in  style  are 
to  be  noted. 

Ada.  She  was  born  Dec.  10,  1815.  In  a letter  to  Moore,  dated 
Jan.  5,  1816,  Byron  says:  “The  little  girl  was  born  on  the  10th  of 
December  last ; her  name  is  Augusta  Ada  (the  second  a very  antique 
family  name  — I believe  not  used  since  the  reign  of  King  John). 
She  was  and  is  very  flourishing  and  fat,  and  is  reckoned  very  large 
for  her  days  — squalls  and  sucks  incessantly.”  Lady  Byron  left  the 
poet  in  January,  when  Ada  was  only  five  weeks  old,  and  Byron  never 
saw  the  child  afterward. 

5.  Notice  the  break  in  the  thought  in  this  line.  Is  this  common 
to  the  earlier  stanzas?  Are  periods  to  be  found  in  the  middle  of  the 
line  in  earlier  cantos  ? 

8-9.  Can  you  give  any  reason  for  Byron’s  feeling  as  these  lines 
imply. 

9.  Albion.  A very  ancient  name  of  Britain,  used  as  early  as 
the  5th  century  b.c.  by  Festus  Avienus  in  his  record  of  the  voyage  of 
Hamilcar.  Aristotle  also  used  the  word  in  his  Treatise  of  the  World. 
The  inhabitants  were  called  Albiones. 

11.  As  a steed.  Moore  cites  the  following:  — 

“ O,  never 

Shall  we  two  exercise,  like  twins  of  honor, 

Our  arms  again,  and  feel  our  fiery  horses 
Like  proud  seas  under  us.” 

16.  As  a weed.  How  much  does  this  simile  express? 


136 


LORD  BYRON. 


WATERLOO. 

Line  1.  The  battle  of  Waterloo  occurred  June  18,  1816;  but  the 
reference  in  this  stanza  is  to  events  of  the  evening  which  preceded 
the  preliminary  engagement  at  Quatre-Bras,  which  took  place  June 
16.  In  her  introduction  to  the  History  of  Peace  Miss  Martineau  says : 
“It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  15th  that  Wellington  received  the 
news  at  Brussels  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  French.  He  instantly 
perceived  that  the  object  was  to  separate  his  force  from  the  Prussians. 
Pie  sent  off  orders  to  his  troops  in  every  direction  to  march  upon 
Quatre-Bras.  This  done,  he  dressed  and  went  to  a ball,  where  none 
would  have  discovered  from  his  manner  that  he  had  heard  any  re- 
markable news.  It  was  whispered  about  the  rooms,  however,  that 
the  French  were  not  far  off;  and  some  officers  dropped  off  in  the 
course  of  the  evening  — called  by  their  duty,  and  leaving  heavy 
hearts  behind  them.  Many  parted  so  who  never  met  again.  It  was 
about  midnight  when  the  general  officers  were  summoned.  Some- 
what later  the  younger  officers  were  very  quietly  called  away  from 
their  partners ; and  by  sunrise  of  the  summer  morning  of  the  16th  all 
were  on  the  march.” 

11.  Car.  What  kind  of  car  was  this? 

16.  Give  an  exposition  of  this  line. 

20.  Brunswick’s  fated  chieftain.  The  Duke  of  Brunswick, 
who  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  Quatre-Bras,  where  W ellington  pur- 
chased victory  with  five  thousand  two  hundred  soldiers. 

25.  His  father.  He  fell  in  the  battle  of  Auerstadt,  Oct.  14, 1806, 
while  in  command  of  the  Prussians,  who  were  defeated  by  the  French 
under  Davout.  On  the  same  day  Napoleon  defeated  the  main  body 
of  the  Prussians  at  Jena. 

27.  “ This  stanza  is  very  grand,  even  from  its  total  unadornment. 

It  is  only  a versification  of  the  common  narratives;  but  here  may 
well  be  applied  a position  of  Johnson,  that  ‘ where  truth  is  sufficient 
to  fill  the  mind,  fiction  is  worse  than  useless.’  ” — Sir  E.  Brydges. 

46.  “ Cameron’s  gathering.”  The  slogan  of  the  clan  of  the 

Camerons. 

48.  Lochiel.  The  “ gentle  Lochiel  ” was  Donald,  the  most  noted 
of  the  Camerons.  He  was  a descendant  of  Evan.  Albyn  is  an 
ancient  Gaelic  name  of  Scotland. 


NOTES. 


137 


54.  Evan  Cameron  (1630-1719)  was  called  the  Ulysses  of  the 
Highlands. 

55.  Ardennes.  “ The  wood  of  Soignies  is  supposed  to  be  a rem- 
nant of  the  forest  of  Ardennes,  famous  in  Boiardo’s  Orlando , and 
immortal  in  Shakespeare’s  As  You  Like  It.  It  is  also  celebrated  in 
Tacitus,  as  being  the  spot  of  successful  defence  by  the  Germans 
against  the  Roman  encroachments.  I have  ventured  to  adopt  the 
name  connected  with  nobler  associations  than  those  of  mere  slaugh- 
ter.” — Byron. 

72.  “ Childe  Harold,  though  he  shuns  to  celebrate  the  victory  of 

Waterloo,  gives  us  here  a most  beautiful  description  of  the  evening 
which  preceded  the  battle  of  Quatre-Bras,  the  alarm  which  called 
out  the  troops,  and  the  hurry  and  confusion  which  preceded  their 
march.  I am  not  sure  that  any  verses  in  our  language  surpass,  in 
vigor  and  in  feeling,  this  most  beautiful  description.”  — Sir  Walter 
Scott. 

THE  DRACHENFELS. 

Line  1.  The  Drachenfels,  or  Dragon  Rock,  on  which  stand  the 
picturesque  ruins  of  a mediaeval  castle,  is  the  most  famous  of  the 
Seven  Mountains,  and  the  highest  (ten  hundred  and  fifty-six  feet) 
peak  overlooking  the  Rhine.  The  dragon’s  cave  is  yet  to  be  seen 
half  way  up  the  slope,  which  is  covered  with  vineyards.  These  verses 
were  written  in  May,  1816. 

7.  The  view  from  the  Drachenfels  extends  up  the  river  as  far  as 
Bonn,  and  down  it  to  Cologne. 

10.  Thou.  These  stanzas  were  addressed  to  Byron’s  sister  Au- 
gusta. Study  them  for  information  about  the  poet’s  regard  for  her. 


LAKE  LEMAN. 

Lines  1-4.  “ I this  day  (July  20,  1815)  observed  for  some  time  the 

distinct  reflection  of  Mont  Blanc  and  Mont  Argentiere  in  the  calm 
of  the  lake,  which  I was  crossing  in  my  boat ; the  distance  of  these 
mountains  from  their  mirror  is  sixty  miles.”  — Byron. 

13.  It.  What  is  the  antecedent?  Explain  the  figure  in  this  line. 

14-15.  Where  . . . infection.  Paraphrase. 


138 


LORD  BYRON. 


16.  Is  coil  used  here  in  the  same  sense  as  in  Hamlet  ? 

“ When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil,’* 
or,  in  the  following : — 

“ Who  was  so  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil 
Would  not  infect  his  reason?” 

20.  Fatal.  Why? 

26.  Wanderers  o’er  Eternity.  From  this  Shelley  gave  Byron 
the  name  of  “Wanderer  of  Eternity.”  Adonais , XXX. 

30.  “The  color  of  the  Rhone  at  Geneva  is  blue  to  a depth  of 
tint  which  I have  never  seen  equalled  in  water,  salt  or  fresh,  except 
in  the  Mediterranean  or  Archipelago.”  — Byron.  Cf.  Chillon , note 
336. 

39.  High  mountains  are  a feeling.  Cf.  Wordsworth : — 

“ The  mountains,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 

Their  colors  and  their  form,  were  then  to  me 
An  appetite,  a feeling,  and  a love.”  — Tintern  Abbey. 

44-45.  With  these  lines  compare  the  following  from  the  Siege  of 
Corinth : — 

“ Who  ever  gazed  upon  them  shining, 

And  turned  to  earth  without  repining, 

Nor  wished  for  wings  to  flee  away, 

And  mix  with  their  eternal  ray?” 

46-47.  Compare  these  lines  with  Solitude,  before. 

54.  Clay-cold  bonds.  Cf.  Cymbeline,  V.  iv.  28:  — 

“ And  cancel  these  cold  bonds.” 

55.  Rolfe  quotes  Tozer’s  note  on  this  passage:  “The  feeling  of 
antagonism  between  the  flesh  and  spirit  which  Byron  expresses  in 
this  passage  is  the  same  which  appears  in  Manichadsm,  in  extrava- 
gant asceticism,  and  in  other  wild  forms  of  philosophical  and  reli- 
gious opinion.  But  the  mystical,  half-pantheistic  views  which  are 
expressed  throughout  this  part  of  the  poem  hardly  amount  to  any- 
thing more  definite  than  the  ‘ feeling  infinite  ’ of  III.  xc.  1,  together 
with  the  poetic  longing  to  be  identified  with  what  is  sublime  and 
beautiful  in  nature.  Their  greater  prominence  in  this  part  of  Childe 
Harold  (though  similar  opinions  are  stated  more  obscurely  elsewhere) 
is  attributable  to  Byron’s  having  now,  for  the  first  time,  seen  the 
Alps  under  circumstances  which  caused  them  to  exercise  a peculiar 


NOTES. 


139 


influence  over  him,  and  also  to  his  having  been  in  Shelley’s  com- 
pany.” 

73.  The  sweetness  and  harmony  of  this  passage  is  not  common 
with  Byron.  The  poet  made  the  tour  of  the  lake  in  a boat  with 
Shelley.  This  may  in  a measure  account  for  it. 

Thy  contrasted  lake,  etc.  Thy  lake  contrasted  with,  etc. 

85.  Jura.  The  Jura  Mountains  are  distant  from  the  lake,  but 
can  generally  be  seen  very  distinctly  from  any  part  of  it. 

86.  Drawing  near.  As  we  draw  near. 

91-92.  Makes  his  life  an  infancy.  What  figure  of  speech? 
Show  wherein  the  likeness  lies. 

99.  Spirit  of  her  hues.  Explain. 

100.  This  storm,  Byron  tells  us,  occurred  on  the  13th  of  June. 
He  says  of  it:  “I  have  seen  among  the  Acroceraunian  mountains  of 
Chirnari  several  more  terrible,  but  none  more  beautiful.” 

108.  The  joyous  Alps.  “ Perchance  the  finest  thing  in  this 
famous  passage  is  the  element  of  Titanic  revelry  which  is  introduced 
into  it,  — ‘joyous  Alps,’  ‘fierce  delight,’  ‘glee,’  ‘mountain-mirth,’ 
‘play.’  ” — Tozer. 

117.  “This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  passages  of  the  poem. 
The  ‘ fierce  and  far  delight  ’ of  a thunder-storm  is  here  described  in 
verse  almost  as  vivid  as  its  lightnings.  The  ‘ live  thunder  ’ leaping 
among  the  crags  — the  voice  of  mountains,  as  if  shouting  to  each 
other  — the  splashing  of  the  big  rain  — the  gleaming  of  the  wide 
lake,  lighted  like  a phosphoric  sea  — present  a picture  of  sublime 
terror,  yet  of  enjoyment,  often  attempted,  but  never  so  well,  cer- 
tainly  never  better,  brought  out  in  poetry.”  — Sir  Walter  Scott. 

118.  The  swift  Rhone  cleaves.  Cf.  30:  — 

“ By  the  blue  rushing  of  the  arrowy  Rhone.” 

141.  Of  what  in  me  is  sleepless.  In  the  Journal  of  his  Swiss 
Tour , Byron  wrote:  “I  was  disposed  to  be  pleased.  I am  a lover 
of  nature,  and  an  admirer  of  beauty.  I can  bear  fatigue,  and  welcome 
privation,  and  have  seen  some  of  the  noblest  views  in  the  world. 
But  in  all  this  . . . the  recollection  of  bitterness,  and  more  espe- 
cially of  recent  and  more  home  desolation,  which  must  accompany 
me  through  life,  has  preyed  upon  me  here;  and  neither  the  music  of 
the  shepherd,  the  crashing  of  the  avalanche,  nor  the  torrent,  the 
mountain,  the  glacier,  the  forest,  nor  the  cloud,  have  for  one  moment 


140 


LORD  BYRON. 


lightened  the  weight  upon  my  heart,  nor  enabled  me  to  lose  my 
wretched  identity  in  the  majesty,  and  the  power,  and  the  glory 
around,  above,  and  beneath  me.” 

144.  The  sweetness  and  beauty  of  these  stanzas  are  doubtless  in 
a great  measure  due  to  the  effect  of  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the 
natural  scenery  upon  Byron’s  distempered  mind.  Says  Vulliemin: 
“It  seemed  to  him  [Byron]  that  nature  was  smiling  upon  him  for 
the  first  time.  His  heart  was  lightened.” 


CLABENS. 

Line  1.  Clarens!  “ The  feeling  with  which  all  around  Clarens, 
and  the  opposite  rocks  of  Meillerie,  is  invested,  is  of  a still  higher 
and  more  comprehensive  order  than  the  mere  sympathy  with  individ- 
ual passion ; it  is  a sense  of  the  existence  of  love  in  its  most  extended 
and  sublime  capacity,  and  of  our  own  participation  in  its  good  and  of 
its  glory;  it  is  the  great  principle  of  the  universe,  which  is  there 
more  condensed,  hut  not  less  manifested;  and  of  which,  though 
knowing  ourselves  a part,  we  lose  our  individuality,  and  mingle  in 
the  beauty  of  the  whole.”  — Byron. 

27.  A populous  solitude.  Cf.  Solitude , 10-19,  and  note. 

50.  Love  his  Psyche’s  zone.  An  allusion  to  the  legend  of  Cupid 
and  Psyche. 


VENICE. 

Line  1.  The  Bridge  of  Sighs.  A covered  passage  connecting 
the  Ducal  Palace  and  the  State  Prison,  over  which  the  prisoners 
passed  to  imprisonment  or  execution. 

8.  Winged  Lion’s.  The  emblem  of  Venice  was  the  Lion  of 
St.  Mark’s.  See  below,  41. 

9.  Hundred  isles.  The  city  is  built  on  one  hundred  and  seven- 
teen islands,  all  hut  three  of  which  are  small. 

10.  She  looks  a sea  Cybele.  “ Sabellicus,  describing  the  appear- 
ance of  Venice,  has  made  use  of  the  above  figure,  which  would  not 
he  poetical  were  it  not  true.”  — Byron.  Bhea  Cybele  was  goddess 
of  the  earth,  with  its  forests  and  mountains,  and  was  sometimes  repre- 
sented with  a turreted  crown. 

19.  Tasso’s  echoes.  “ The  well-known  song  of  the  gondoliers, 


NOTES. 


141 


of  alternate  stanzas,  from  Tasso’s  Jerusalem , has  died  with  the  inde- 
pendence of  Venice.  Editions  of  the  poem,  with  the  original  on  one 
column  and  the  Venetian  variations  on  the  other,  as  sung  by  the 
boatmen,  were  once  common,  and  are  still  to  he  found.”  — Byron. 

27.  Masque.  Revel,  masquerade,  carnival. 

33.  Rialto.  Not  the  Rialto  of  Shakespeare,  hut  the  bridge  leading 
to  it. 

Shylock  of  the  Merchant  of  Venice.  The  Moor  is  Othello. 
Pierre  is  the  leading  character  of  Otway’s  Venice  Preserved. 

37.  The  spouseless  Adriatic.  The  Doge  of  Venice  used  annu- 
ally, on  Ascension  Day,  to  wed  the  city  to  the  Adriatic.  The  cere- 
mony was  performed  on  the  Bucentaur,  the  state  galley,  which  was 
employed  only  on  this  occasion.  The  Doge  dropped  a ring  into  the 
sea  with  these  words:  “We  wed  thee  with  this  ring  in  token  of  our 
true  and  perpetual  sovereignty.” 

41.  St.  Mark  was  the  patron  saint  of  Venice.  The  lion  stood 
across  the  Place,  facing  the  cathedral. 

43.  Where  an  Emperor  sued.  On  this  Place  Frederic  Barba- 
rossa  recognized  Alexander  III.  as  Pope.  Cf.  Machiavelli’s  History 
of  Florence : “In  the  meantime  Frederic  was  returned  into  Italy, 
with  resolution  to  make  a new  war  upon  the  Pope ; but  whilst  he  was 
busy  about  his  preparations,  his  Barons  and  Clergy  gave  him  adver- 
tisement that  they  would  all  forsake  him  unless  he  reconciled  him- 
self to  the  Church ; so  that,  changing  his  design,  he  was  forced  to  go 
and  make  his  submission  at  Venice.”  This  took  place  in  1177. 

50.  Allusion  is  made  to  Mrs.  Radcliffe’s  Mysteries  of  Udolpho  and 
to  Schiller’s  Geisterseher. 


THE  OCEAN. 

These  are  the  closing  stanzas  but  two  of  Childe  Harold. 

Line  8.  To  mingle  with  the  Universe.  Cf.  Canto  III.  lxxii. : — 

“ When  the  soul  can  flee 
And  with  the  sky,  the  peak,  the  heaving  plain 
Of  ocean,  or  the  stars,  mingle,  and  not  in  vain.” 

15.  Save  his  own.  That  is,  the  ravage  of  himself. 

27.  There  let  him  lay.  “What  is  to  become  of  grammar  if  a 
popular  poet  is  to  close  a stanza  with  such  a barbarism  ? ” — Hodgson* 


142 


LORD  BYRON. 


35.  Yeast  of  waves.  Shakespeare  has  in  Macbeth  “the  yeasty 
waves.” 

36.  The  Armada’s  pride.  Of  the  one  hundred  and  thirty  ves- 
sels of  the  Armada  sent  out  by  Philip  II.  of  Spain  to  invade  Eng- 
land, only  fifty-three  returned,  having  twice  encountered  a tempest. 
Nearly  all  of  the  nineteen  ships  taken  by  the  English  in  the  battle 
of  Trafalgar  were  destroyed  by  a tempest. 

39.  Thy  waters  washed  them  power.  In  what  way? 

40.  Of  what  is  tyrant  object? 

55.  “ This  passage  would,  perhaps,  be  read  without  emotion,  if 

we  did  not  know  that  Lord  Byron  was  here  describing  his  actual 
feelings  and  habits,  and  that  this  was  an  unaffected  picture  of  his 
propensities  and  amusements  even  from  childhood,  while  he  listened 
to  the  roar,  and  watched  the  hursts  of  the  northern  ocean  on  the 
tempestuous  shores  of  Aberdeenshire.”  — Sir  E.  Brydges. 

“At  Lisbon,  Byron,  who  even  when  at  Harrow  was  a famous 
swimmer,  and  when  at  Cambridge  had  won  a wager  by  swimming 
three  miles  in  the  Thames,  swam  across  to  the  old  castle  of  Belem.” 
— Nathan  Haskell  Dole. 

While  in  Italy,  Byron  swam  from  Lido  to  Venice,  and  the  length 
of  the  Grand  Canal  in  addition,  being  in  the  water  four  hours  and 
twenty  minutes.  He  also  swam  across  the  Hellespont,  from  Sestos 
to  Abydos,  in  1810. 

63.  As  I do  here.  This  apostrophe  was  begun  on  the  “Alban 
Mount;  ” hut  the  poet  is.  or  supposes  himself  to  he,  near  the  sea  as 
he  closes  it. 


A GRECIAN  SUNSET. 

These  lines  were  written  in  the  spring  of  1811  among  the  hills  of 
the  Morea,  and  formed  a part  of  The  Curse  of  Minerva , hut  were 
afterwards  made  the  opening  stanzas  of  Canto  III.  of  the  Corsair , 
published  in  1814. 

Line  2.  Morea’s  hills.  Morea  is  the  modern  name  of  the  ancient 
Peloponnesus;  it  consists  of  the  nomarcbies  of  Argolis,  Corinth,  La- 
conia, Messenia,  Arcadia,  Achaia,  and  Elis. 

7.  iEgina’s  rock.  iEgina,  or  Egina,  is  a rocky  island  in  the 
gulf  of  the  same  name,  between  the  Morea  and  Attica.  The  fleet  of 
Egina  distinguished  itself  in  the  battle  of  Salamis. 


NOTES. 


143 


Hydra’s  isle.  Hydra  is  a steep,  rocky  isle  just  off  the  coast 
of  the  liomarehy  of  Corinth. 

9.  His  own  regions.  Why? 

12.  Thy  glorious  gulf.  The  island  of  Salamis,  with  its  little 
gulf,  is  directly  east  of  Corinth,  in  the  Gulf  of  Egina.  Here  the 
fleet  of  Xerxes,  consisting  of  one  thousand  ships,  was  defeated  and 
scattered,  two  hundretf  of  them  being  destroyed,  and  many  others 
captured,  by  a Greek  fleet  of  three  hundred  and  sixty  vessels. 

18.  Delphian  rock.  The  temple  and  town  of  Delphi  were  situ- 
ated at  the  southern  extremity  of  Mount  Parnassus,  in  Phocis.  The 
modern  name  of  the  town  is  Castri. 

20.  Thy  wisest.  Socrates. 

22.  That  closed  . . . day.  “ Socrates  drank  the  hemlock  a short 
time  before  sunset  (the  hour  of  execution),  notwithstanding  the  en- 
treaties of  his  disciples  to  wait  till  the  sun  went  down.”  — Byron. 

28.  Phoebus.  The  bright,  radiant.  It  was  a name  of  Apollo, 
the  sun  god,  and  had  reference  both  to  the  beauty  of  the  god  and  to 
the  brightness  of  the  sun.  Here  it  means  the  sun. 

29.  Citheron’s  head.  The  highest  peak  (four  thousand  six  hun- 
dred feet)  of  the  Cithaeron  Mountains,  between  Bceotia  and  Attica, 
now  called  Elatea. 

33.  Mount  Hymettus  is  a little  southeast  of  Athens. 

34.  The  queen  of  night.  “The  twilight  in  Greece  is  much 
shorter  than  in  our  own  country ; the  days  in  winter  are  longer,  hut 
in  summer  of  shorter  duration.”  — Byron. 

42.  Cephisus.  A stream  or  fountain  in  Athens,  where  Theseus 
was  purified  from  the  taint  of  bloodshed. 

44.  The  gleaming  . . . kiosk.  “The  kiosk  is  a Turkish  sum- 
mer-house. The  palm  is  without  the  present  walls  of  Athens,  not 
far  from  the  temple  of  Theseus,  between  which  and  the  tree  the  wall 
intervenes.  . . . Cephisus’  stream  is  indeed  scanty,  and  Ilissus  has 
no  stream  at  all.”  — Byron. 

46.  Theseus’  fane.  The  Theseum.  For  story  of  Theseus  see 
Classical  Dictionary. 

GREECE. 

The  following  is  from  the  Giaour , published  in  1811. 

Line  2.  Blessed  isles.  A reference  to  an  old  Greek  myth,  ac- 


144 


LORD  BYRON. 


cording  to  which  the  “ Island  of  the  Blessed,  ” situated  toward  the 
edge  of  the  western  ocean,  were  the  abode  of  the  favorites  of  the  gods 
after  death.  Here  they  possessed  everything  in  abundance.  Cf.  The 
Isles  of  Greece: 

“ Than  your  sires’  Islands  of  the  Blest.” 

3.  Colonna’s  height.  Cape  Colonna,  or  the  promontory  of  Su- 
nium.  Cf.  Greece  before,  66  and  note. 

16.  Sultana  of  the  Nightingale.  “ The  attachment  of  the  night- 
ingale to  the  rose  is  a well-known  Persian  fable.  If  I mistake  not,  the 
‘ Bubel  of  a Thousand  Tales  ’ is  one  of  his  appellations.”. — Byron. 

34.  Till  . . . guitar.  “ The  guitar  is  the  constant  companion  of 
the  Greek  sailor  by  night;  with  a steady,  fair  wind,  and  during  a 
calm,  it  is  accompanied  by  the  voice,  and  often  by  dancing.”  — 
Byron. 

75.  Where  cold  Obstruction’s  apathy.  Cf.  Measure  for  Meas- 
ure, III.  i.,  11.  118,  119:  — 

“Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where; 

To  lie  in  cold  obstruction.” 

86.  With  this  line  cf.  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  187:  — 

“So  softly  worn,  so  sweetly  meek.” 

103.  Thermopylae.  The  pass  where  Leonidas  and  the  three  hun- 
dred Spartans  fell,  opposing  the  advance  of  the  army  of  Xerxes  into 
Greece,  in  480  b.c.  See  Classical  Dictionary . 

106.  Salamis.  See  Grecian  Sunset,  note  12. 

ODE  TO  NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE. 

Line  26.  Pagod.  Shortened  form  of  pagoda.  It  generally  means 
the  temple,  hut  sometimes,  as  here,  refers  to  the  idol. 

29.  Rapture  of  the  strife.  “ ‘ Certaminis  gaudia.’  The  expres- 
sion of  Attila  in  his  harangue  to  his  army  previous  to  the  battle  of 
Chalons,  given  in  Cassiodorus.”  — Byron. 

44.  To  die  a prince,  etc.  Byron  has,  at  the  head  of  this  piece, 
a quotation  from  Gibbon  regarding  the  Emperor  Nepos:  “By  this 
shameful  abdication,  he  protracted  his  life  a few  years,  in  a very 
ambiguous  state,”  etc. 

55.  The  Roman.  Sulla. 

64.  The  Spaniard.  Charles  V.,  who  abdicated  in  favor  of  his 
son,  and  retired  to  the  monastery  of  Yuste,  in  Estremadura. 


NOTES. 


145 


109.  Austria’s  mournful  flower.  Empress  Marie  Louise.  “From 
the  double  point  of  view  of  psychology  and  history,”  says  De  Saint- 
Amand,  “it  is  a sad  hut  curious  task  to  study  the  gradations  by 
which  Empress  Marie  Louise  was,  little  by  little,  transformed  from 
a devoted  and  irreproachable  wife  into  a forgetful,  faithless,  and  in- 
different one.” 

125.  Corinth’s  pedagogue.  Diogenes,  the  Cynic. 

127.  Timour.  Better  known  as  Tamerlane.  He  is  said  to  have 
carried  Bajazet,  whom  he  had  conquered,  around  in  an  iron  cage 
built  for  that  purpose.  The  story  is,  however,  without  trustworthy 
foundation. 

131.  He  of  Babylon.  Nebuchadnezzar.  See  Dan.  iv.  31-33. 

136.  The  thief  of  fire,  etc.  Prometheus.  See  Classical  Dic- 
tionary. 

150.  Marengo.  Napoleon,  with  40,000  French,  defeated  and 
routed  120,000  Austrians  at  Marengo,  a town  in  northern  Italy,  in  1800. 

168.  For  the  story  of  Cincinnatus  see  Cyclopaedia  or  Classical 
Dictionary. 

THE  ISLES  OF  GREECE. 

Line  2.  Sappho.  For  the  classical  allusions  in  this  piece,  unless 
otherwise  explained,  see  Classical  Dictionary . 

4.  Delos  was  said  to  have  been  pulled  up  from  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  by  the  trident  of  Neptune,  and  to  have  remained  a floating 
island  until  Jupiter  fastened  it  down  with  adamantine  chains  that  it 
might  he  the  birthplace  of  Diana  and  Apollo. 

7.  Scian.  Adjective  from  Scio,  the  modern  name  of  the  ancient 
Chios,  one  of  the  places  claiming  to  he  the  birthplace  of  Homer. 

Teian.  Adjective  from  Teos,  a seaport  town  of  Ionia,  where 
Anacreon  was  horn. 

13.  The  plain  of  Marathon  is  enclosed  on  three  sides  by  rocky 
arms  of  Parnes  and  Pentelicus,  and  the  fourth  is  open  to  the  sea. 

19.  A king  sate.  Xerxes. 

33.  A patriot’s  shame.  Greece  was  Byron’s  country  by  adoption. 

50.  Samian.  Samos  is  an  island  off  the  coast  of  Ionia,  noted  for 
its  wine,  as  was  also  the  island  of  Scio  (line  52). 

55.  Pyrrhic  dance.  A Grecian  war-dance  named  after  the  great 
general,  Pyrrhus. 


146 


LORD  BYRON. 


56.  Pyrrhic  phalanx.  Also  called  the  Macedonian  phalanx. 

74.  Suli’s  rock,  Cf.  Childe  Harold,  II.  42 : “ Dark  Suli’s  rocks.” 
Suli,  or  Souli,  is  a town  in  the  south  of  Epirus.  It  is  in  a wild,  moun- 
tainous district  about  the  river  Acheron. 

Parga  is  a seaport  town  of  Epirus,  southeast  of  Souli. 

76.  Doric.  The  Dorians  were  one  of  the  four  principal  peoples 
of  Greece.  In  early  times  they  associated  themselves  with  the  Hera- 
cleidse,  and  made  a conquest  of  the  Peloponnesus.  They  were  brave 
and  warlike. 

78.  Heracleidse.  The  descendants  of  Hercules.  See  Classical 
Dictionary . 

91.  Sunium’s  marbled  steep.  Covered  with  the  ruins  of  the 
temple  of  Minerva,  which  was  built  of  marble  taken  from  the  quar- 
ries of  Mount  Mendeli.  See  Greece  (2)  and  notes. 

AYE  MARIA. 

These  are  stanzas  from  the  close  of  Canto  III.  of  Don  Juan. 

Line  2.  The  spot.  See  below,  lines  19  and  20. 

19-20.  Ravenna  is  in  the  midst  of  a richly  wooded  plain  which 
was  once  covered  by  the  Adriatic. 

22.  Boccaccio’s  lore.  A reference  to  the  story  of  Anastasio 
degli  Honesti,  or  Onesti,  in  the  Decameron  of  Boccaccio.  Upon  this 
tale  Dryden  founded  his  poem,  Theodore  and  Honoria . The  scene 
of  the  story  is  a pine  wood  just  outside  the  city  of  Ravenna. 

29.  Spectre  huntsman.  The  following  is  Boccaccio’s  synopsis 
of  the  novel : — 

Anastasio,  a gentleman  of  the  family  of  the  Onesti,  by  loving  the  daugh- 
ter to  Paolo  Traversario,  lavishly  wasted  a great  part  of  his  substance  with- 
out receiving  any  love  of  her  again.  By  persuasion  of  some  of  his  kindred 
and  friends,  he  went  to  a country  dwelling  of  his  at  Chiassi,  where  he  saw 
a knight  desperately  pursue  a young  damsel,  whom  he  slew,  and  afterward 
gave  her  to  be  devoured  by  his  hounds.  Anastasio  invited  his  friends, 
and  her  also  whom  he  so  dearly  loved,  to  take  part  of  a dinner  with  him, 
who  likewise  saw  the  same  damsel  so  torn  in  pieces  which,  his  unkind  love 
perceiving,  and  fearing  lest  the  like  ill-fortune  should  happen  to  her,  she 
accepted  Anastasio  to  be  her  husband. 

49.  Nero  perished  by  his  own  hand. 


NOTES. 


147 


NOTES  TO  MAZEPPA. 

This  poem  has  its  basis  in  historic  fact.  Jan  Mazeppa,  born  about 
1645,  was  the  son  of  a noble  family,  but  was  without  property. 
He  therefore  entered  the  service  of  the  king  of  Poland,  John  Casi- 
mir.  Here  he  became  entangled  in  an  intrigue  with  the  wife  of  a 
Polish  nobleman,  who  caused  Mazeppa  to  be  stripped  and  bound 
to  his  own  horse  — not  a wild  horse  — which  carried  him  to  his  own 
home.  Overcome  with  shame  at  his  public  disgrace,  Mazeppa  fled 
to  Ukraine,  where  he  joined  the  Cossacks,  and  by  his  bravery  and 
strength  of  character  he  attained  distinction  among  them  and  was 
chosen  their  hetman  in  1687.  Later  he  came  into  favor  with  Peter 
the  Great,  who,  in  addition  to  other  marks  of  distinction,  named 
him  Prince  of  Ukraine.  When  Russia  curtailed  the  freedom  of  the 
Cossacks,  Mazeppa  undertook  to  throw  off  the  Russian  yoke,  and 
to  do  this,  made  overtures  to  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden.  These  and 
other  treasonable  designs  were  discovered  and  manjr  of  Mazeppa ’s 
friends  were  put  to  death.  He  himself  joined  Charles  XII.  and  was 
with  him  in  the  battle  of  Pultowa.  After  this  disaster  to  Charles, 
Mazeppa  fled  to  Bender,  where  he  died  in  1709.  Besides  this  poem 
of  Byron ’s,  Mazeppa ’s  story  has  been  the  subject  of  novels,  plays, 
of  a historical  work,  of  a composition  by  Liszt,  and  of  two  paintings 
by  the  artist  Horace  Verne t. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Byron  has  dealt  very  freely  with  the  details  of 
this  story,  just  as  he  did  in  “ The  Prisoner  of  Chillon.  ” This  is  partly 
due  to  the  source  from  which  the  poet  drew  his  information.  The 
passages  which  Byron  quoted  in  the  advertisement  to  the  poem 
when  published,  contained  some  of  the  same  errors  that  are  to  be 
found  in  the  poem.  The  passages  referred  to  are  from  Voltaire’s 
“ Llistory  of  Charles  XII.”  Other  details  Byron  varied  to  satisfy  his 
love  of  the  wildly  romantic. 

1.  Pultowa’s  day.  The  day  of  the  disaster  to  the  forces  of 
Charles  XII.  at  Pultowa  or  Pultova.  The  town  contains  a monu- 
ment commemorating  the  victory  of  Peter  the  Great,  while  three 
miles  away  there  is  a mound  surmounted  by  a cross  known  as  the 
“ Swedish  Tomb.  ’ ’ 

3.  Slaughtered  army.  The  army  consisted  of  30,000  men. 
About  half  of  this  number  were  either  slain  or  captured.  Most  of  the 


148 


LORD  BYRON. 


remainder  fled  in  a direction  opposite  to  that  taken  by  Charles,  who 
was  accompanied  by  500  cavalrymen. 

8.  Moscow’s  walls.  Moscow  was  then  the  capital  of  Russia. 

9.  Until  a day,  etc.  This  and  following  lines  refer  to  the  burning 
of  Moscow  by  the  Russians  during  the  campaign  of  Napoleon  against 
Russia  in  1812.  The  French  forces,  compelled  to  retreat,  were  well- 
nigh  destroyed  by  cold,  famine,  and  the  pursuing  Russians. 

23.  His  horse,  etc.  “The  king,  fleeing  and  followed,  had  his 
horse  shot  from  under  him.  Colonel  Gieta,  wounded  and  fainting 
from  loss  of  blood,  gave  up  his  own.  Thus  this  conqueror,  who 
could  not  endure  the  saddle  during  the  battle,  was  remounted  twice 
during  his  flight. ” — Voltaire's  “History  of  Charles  XII.” 

30.  A king  must  lay,  etc.  “To  aggravate  his  disgrace,  he 
(Charles  XII.)  lost  his  way  in  a wood  during  the  night;  thus,  his 
courage  being  no  longer  able  to  supply  his  lost  strength,  the  pain 
of  his  wounds  being  more  unendurable  through  fatigue,  and  his 
horse  having  fallen  from  exhaustion,  he  rested  several  hours  at  the 
foot  of  a tree,  in  danger  of  being  surprised  at  any  moment  by  his 
conquerors,  who  were  seeking  him  everywhere.”  — Voltaire's  “His- 
tory of  Charles  XII.” 

56.  The  Ukraine’s  hetman.  Hetman  is  a Polish  word,  signi- 
fying commander-in-chief.  The  Ukraine  is  a district  lying  along 
the  Dneiper,  forming  what  is  called  Little  Russia.  The  word  origi- 
nally meant  a frontier. 

58.  The  Cossack  Prince.  Mazeppa.  See  introductory  note 
above. 

104.  Bucephalus.  The  favorite  horse  of  Alexander  the  Great, 
king  of  Macedonia.  Both  horse  and  master  play  a prominent  part 
in  the  romance  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

105.  All  Sythia’s  fame.  Sythia  is  a name  given  by  the  ancients 
to  what  is  now  southern  Russia.  It  was  inhabited  by  a wild  roving 
people,  noted  for  their  horsemanship. 

116.  Swift  Borysthenes.  The  Greek  name  for  what  is  now 
the  Dneiper. 

126.  My  seventy  years.  Mazeppa  was  about  sixty-five  years 
of  age  at  this  time. 

135.  Warsaw’s  diet.  Warsaw  was  the  capital  of  Poland;  the 
diet,  its  general  assembly. 

151.  Mimers.  Rude  dramatic  representations  of  a comic  char- 


NOTES. 


149 


acter,  dating  from  the  time  of  the  Greeks.  Much  in  favor  for  fete- 
days. 

155.  A certain  Palatine.  All  accounts  of  Mazeppa  refer  to 
this  person  simply  as  a Polish  nobleman  or  gentleman. 

157.  A salt  or  silver  mine.  “This  comparison  of  a salt  mine 
may,  perhaps,  be  permitted  to  a Pole,  as  the  wealth  of  his  country 
consists  greatly  in  salt  mines.”  — Byron. 

354.  ’Sdeath  ! Shortened  form  of  by  His  Death,  an  oath  common 
in  the  16th  and  17th  centuries. 

434.  The  Tartars.  A wild  and  warlike  race  of  Mongolians  who 
overran  southeastern  Russia  and  Hungary  in  the  13th  century,  a 
large  number  of  them  settling  along  the  Volga.  After  more  than 
two  centuries,  they  fled  back  to  Asia.  For  a thrilling  and  romantic 
account  of  their  flight,  see  De  Quincey's  “ Flight  of  a Tartar  Tribe.” 

437.  The  Spahi  was  a Turkish  cavalryman. 

619.  Ignis-fatuus.  See  note  on  line  35,  “ Prisoner  of  Chillon.” 

664.  Werst  or  verst  is  a Russian  measure  of  distance,  nearly 
corresponding  to  the  kilometer,  or  about  three-eighths  of  a mile. 

738.  Wassail,  wine.  Cf.  “ Macbeth,”  I.  VII., 

“His  two  chamberlains 
Will  I with  wine  and  wassail  so  convince.” 

858.  Welcome  for  a river.  Charles  XII.,  with  Mazeppa  and 
their  few  hundred  followers  fled  to  the  Borysthenes,  or  Dnieper,  which 
river  they  swam.  Thence  they  proceeded  across  a desolate  stretch 
of  country  until  they  reached  Bender,  a town  in  Turkish  territory, 
where  they  were  received  with  hospitality  by  the  Pasha.  Here 
Mazeppa  contracted  a disease  from  which  he  died.  Charles  suceeded 
in  getting  back  again  to  his  kingdom. 

QUESTIONS  ON  MAZEPPA. 

I 

1.  What  is  there  in  this  stanza  that  arouses  interest  in  the  story 
to  follow? 

2.  Judging  from  the  latter  part  of  this  stanza,  what  was  Byron's 
attitude  toward  Napoleon? 

3.  What  kind  of  story  does  this  first  stanza  lead  us  to  expect? 


150 


LORD  BYRON. 


II 

4.  What  is  the  nature  of  the  poet's  feelings  for  Charles  — sym- 
pathetic or  otherwise?  Reason  for  answer. 

5.  How  do  the  loyalty  and  sacrifices  of  his  followers  affect  our 
sympathy  for  Charles? 

6.  What  human  qualities  worthy  of  admiration  are  illustrated  in 
this  stanza? 

7.  By  what  means  other  than  his  personal  traits,  does  the  author 
arouse  our  interest  in  Charles? 

8.  How  far  is  this  characterization  of  Charles  historically  correct? 

III 

9.  In  what  way  were  the  remaining  followers  of  Charles  chival- 
rous? 

10.  How  many  of  these  first  stanzas  are  purely  introductory? 

11.  Point  out  the  various  steps  in  this  introduction. 

12.  By  what  means  does  the  author  draw  attention  to  Mazeppa? 

13.  What  things  told  of  Mazeppa  give  him  a sympathetic  place 
in  our  minds? 

14.  What  qualities  of  the  master  are  suggested  by  the  character- 
ization of  the  steed? 

IV 

15.  What  additional  traits  of  Mazeppa 's  character  are  given  here? 

16.  What  indications  are  there  in  this  and  the  preceding  stanza 
that  Mazeppa  and  not  Charles  is  the  central  figure  in  the  story? 

17.  Why  does  he  hesitate  to  tell  his  tale. 

18.  Recapitulate  the  circumstances  under  which  Mazeppa  tells 
his  story. 

19.  Point  out  what  things  are  essentially  romantic  about  this 
setting. 

20.  Is  there  anything  in  this  introduction  to  his  story  to  suggest 
the  nature  of  the  tale? 

21.  Have  we  had  any  previous  hint  that  Mazeppa  was  so  old? 

22.  Does  this  age  seem  inconsistent  with  the  facts  given  about 
Mazeppa?  Reason  for  answer. 

23.  What  contrasts  are  suggested  in  this  stanza? 

24.  How  much  interest  do  we  have  in  Casimir?  Why  no  more? 


NOTES. 


151 


25.  What  significance  in  the  reference  to  the  poet  who  would 
not  flatter? 

26.  Why  is  the  count  made  so  uninteresting  in  character? 

V 

27.  What  purpose  in  the  contrast  between  Mazeppa  in  his  earlier 
years  and  now? 

28.  Which  Mazeppa  is  more  admirable,  that  of  youth  or  that  of 
old  age?  Why? 

29.  Which  is  more  truly  romantic?  Point  out  romantic  char- 
acteristics in  both. 

30.  Compare  the  changes  wrought  in  Mazeppa 's  appearance  with 
the  transformation  in  the  Prisoner  of  Chillon.  Wdiat  likeness  and 
differences  do  you  find? 

31.  In  what  ways  is  Theresa  made  interesting? 

32.  Do  you  find  things  that  detract  from  your  opinion  of  her, 
if  so,  what? 

33.  Is  Mazeppa  consistent  throughout  in  the  tone  of  his  char- 
acterization of  Theresa? 

34.  Is  there  anything  in  Mazeppa 's  love  for  Theresa  that  calls 
for  our  respect? 

VI 

35..  Do  you  find  things  in  this  stanza  that  seem  inconsistent  with 
the  character  of  Mazeppa? 

36.  Does  the  author  arouse  our  sympathy  for  the  lovers  in  the 
first  part  of  this  stanza? 

37.  At  just  what  point  do  we  begin  to  feel  for  them? 

38.  What  observations  of  the  speaker  seriously  lessen  our  respect 
for  his  love  of  Theresa? 

VII 

39.  Is  the  tone  of  the  narrative  here  dignified?  Reason  for 
answer. 

40.  What  lines  can  you  find  in  this  and  the  preceding  stanza 
that  have  parallels  in  Chillon? 

VIII 

41.  What  touches  of  flippancy  are  to  be  found  in  this  stanza? 

42.  Is  there  anything  here  that  adds  to  the  poem? 


152 


LORD  BYRON. 


43.  What  is  there  that  detracts? 

44.  Is  there  any  preparation  for  the  tragedy  that  follows?  Pass 
criticism  upon  these  last  three  stanzas. 

IX 

45.  Wherein  does  the  author  depart  from  the  true  story  of  Mazep- 
pa?  With  what  effect? 

46.  Point  out  the  dramatic  qualities  of  this  stanza. 

47.  Distinguish  between  the  dramatic  and  vivid  characteristics. 


X 

48.  What  is  it  that  makes  the  account  vivid  here  — picturesque- 
ness, intensity  of  feeling,  or  the  rapidity  with  which  the  details  are 
given? 

49.  What  is  the  effect  of  the  reference  to  the  “ savage  laughter”  ? 

50.  What  incidents  here  reveal  Mazeppa's  character? 

51.  What  are  the  qualities  of  character  here  portrayed? 

52.  Is  this  account  of  Mazeppa's  vengeance  an  essential  element 
of  the  story  or  a digression? 

53.  Why  is  it  given  here?  What  is  its  effect? 

54.  What  information  does  this  stanza  give  with  respect  to  the 
personal  feelings  of  the  author? 

XI 

55.  Show  wherein  the  descriptive  element  is  in  harmony  with  the 
nature  of  the  story. 

56.  What  effect  is  produced  by  mention  of  the  “scarce  seen 
battlement”  ? 

57.  What  feeling  does  the  account  here  awaken  in  the  reader? 

58.  Explain  how  the  author  makes  the  narrative  so  simple;  so 
forcible, 

XII 

59.  What  is  there  unusual  in  the  author's  description  of  the 
effect  of  frost  upon  the  forest? 

60.  What  is  his  purpose  in  giving  a gruesome  aspect  to  the  scenery 
here? 

61.  What  effect  is  produced  by  the  account  that  follows? 


NOTES. 


153 


^52.  Which  is  more  vivid,  the  nature  picture,  or  the  account  of 
the  pursuit  by  the  wolves? 

63.  Comment  on  the  strength  or  weakness  of  the  comparisons 
with  which  the  stanza  closes. 

64.  What  elements  in  this  stanza  are  essentially  romantic? 

XIII 

65.  What  is  the  nature  of  the  descriptions  in  this  stanza,  sub- 
jective or  objective? 

66.  Explain  the  difference  in  effect  between  subjective  and  ob- 
jective description. 

67.  What  lines  in  this  stanza  may  apply  to  the  author  as  well 
as  to  Mazeppa? 

68.  Compare  this  stanza  with  stanzas  VIII  and  IX  of  the  Pris- 
oner of  Chillon,  pointing  out  elements  of  likeness  and  difference? 

69.  What  elements  of  Mazeppa ’s  character  are  shown  in  the 
last  part  of  this  stanza? 

XIV 

70.  Compare  this  stanza  with  stanza  X of  the  Prisoner  of  Chillon. 
What  likenesses  do  you  discover? 

71.  How  much  time  has  elapsed  since  the  ride  began? 

72.  What  is  there  wildly  romantic  about  this  scene? 

73.  Does  this  stanza  add  to  or  take  from  the  horror  of  the  ride? 

XV 

74.  What  is  the  nature  of  the  description  in  this  stanza?  Com- 
pare with  stanza  XIII. 

75.  Does  this  stanza  in  any  way  mark  the  nearing  end  of  the 
awful  ride?  If  so,  why? 

76.  What  is  there  in  the  stanza  that  leads  us  to  , expect  that 
Mazeppa  will  be  rescued? 

XVI 

77.  What  are  we  led  to  expect  from  the  beginning  of  this  stanza? 

78.  Which  predominates  here,  description,  narration,  or  ex- 
position? Find  examples  of  each, 

79.  What  effect  is  produced  by  the  closing  lines? 


154 


LORD  BYRON. 


XVII 

80.  By  what  means  is  the  desolateness  of  the  scene  emphasized? 

81.  What  elements  make  the  first  part  of  this  stanza  vivid? 

82.  Of  what  value  is  the  account  of  the  “thousand  horse”  to 
the  story  as  a whole? 

83.  Distinguish  between  the  description  and  the  exposition  in 
the  second  half  of  this  stanza. 

84.  What  is  Mazeppa ’s  mental  condition?  Describe  it. 

85.  What  is  the  nature  of  the  feelings  with  which  the  account 
here  inspires  the  reader? 

XVIII 

86.  What  is  the  author’s  purpose  in  giving  the  incident  of  the 
raven? 

87.  Is  vividness  here  attained  by  the  rapidity  with  which  details 
are  given,  or  by  holding  the  picture  before  us? 

88.  What  is  the  effect  of  the  introduction  of  the  “lovely  star”? 

89.  Byron  is  a master  in  the  portrayal  of  what  kind  of  feelings? 

XIX 

90.  What  effect  is  produced  by  the  abrupt  transition  from  the 
preceding  scene  to  the  one  portrayed  here? 

91.  What  is  the  value  of  the  contrast  between  the  two  scenes? 

92.  What  is  the  poet’s  purpose  in  introducing  the  Cossack  maid? 

93.  Compare  the  portrayal  of  the  Cossack  maid  and  the  portrayal 
of  Theresa  early  in  the  poem  with  respect  to  tone,  to  feeling. 

94.  What  purpose  has  the  poet  in  giving  us  this  sympathetic 
account  of  the  maid? 

XX 

95.  Does  the  author  wish  us  to  understand  that  the  maid  be- 
came Mazeppa’s  wife?  Reasons  for  answer. 

96.  What  is  the  lesson  that  Mazeppa  draws  from  his  story? 

97.  What  purpose  has  he  in  drawing  a lesson  from  it? 

98.  What  relation  do  the  last  fifteen  lines  bear  to  the  poem? 

99.  Are  we  content  to  know  nothing  more  about  the  fate  of 
Charles  and  Mazeppa?  Give  reason  for  answer. 


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